THE  IDEA  OF  ENVIRONMENT  IN  THOMAS 
HARDY'S  NOVELS 


By 

RUTH  JENKINS 

A.  B.  Georgetown  College,  1921 


THESIS 

SUBMITTED  IN  PARTIAL  FULFILLMENT  OF  THE  REQUIREMENTS  FOR  THE 
DEGREE  OF  MASTER  OF  ARTS  IN  ENGLISH  IN  THE  GRADUATE 
SCHOOL  OF  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS,  1922 


URBANA,  ILLINOIS 


\ zj  6~ 

J4I 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 

THE  GRADUATE  SCHOOL 


Thfrj  3Q 1922*. 


I HEREBY  RECOMMEND  THAT  THE  THESIS  PREPARED  UNDER  MY 

supervision  by "Hodk  xlitri lUixa 

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THE  IDEA  OF  ENVIRONMENT  IN  THOMS  HARDY'S  NOVELS 

INTRODUCTION 


During  the  last  half  of  the  nineteenth  century  natur- 
alism had  an  important  place  in  English  literature.  It  was 
perhaps  the  inevitable  outcome  of  the  reaction,  which  began  with 
the  Renaissance,  against  the  medieval  sovereignty  of  mere  author- 
ity, and  it  found  its  greatest  literary  expression  in  the  school 
of  naturalistic  novel  writers.  In  philosophy  naturalism  was 
defined  as  a view  of  the  world  and  of  man's  relation  to  it,  in 
which  only  the  operation  of  natural  (as  opposed  to  supernatural 
or  spiritual)  laws  and  forces  is  admitted.  When  it  was  intro- 
duced into  literature  in  the  eighteenth  century,  it  was  known 
as  minute  and  extreme  realism,  accuracy  in  every  detail,  truth 
deprived  of  all  theory . Later  it  was  thought  of  as  realism  with 
certain  theories  of  life  obtained  from  nineteenth  century  biology. 
Darwin,  in  his  theory  of  the  development  of  the  species,  his 
ideas  of  evolution  and  survival  of  the  fittest,  showed  man  de- 
prived of  all  supernatural  supports  . From  this  theory  the 
naturalists  took  their  basic  conception  of  man:  not  a chosen 

spirit  under  divine  guidance  but  a helpless  prey  of  strong  and 
sensual  instincts,  the  product  of  his  heredity  and  environment, 
tossed  about  aimlessly  as  a vessel  is  driven  by  a stormy  sea. 


. 


-3- 


In  classical  mythology  Fate  was  a power  above  the  gods, 
inexorable,  omnipresent,  overruling  all  affairs  of  men.  Nine- 
teenth century  science  defines  Fate  as  an  individual's  heredity 
and  environment,  and  not  an  unyielding  power  which  is  apart  from 
everything  and  above  God  and  man.  These  two  external  forces — 
heredity  and  environment — are  viewed  as  either  the  maker  or 
breaker  of  man. 

The  element  of  environment  constitutes  an  important 
part  in  the  naturalistic  theory  . In  its  common  use  it  means 
all  that  lies  outside  the  individual,  whether  it  be  landscapes, 
people,  or  social  conventions.  The  environment  of  man  is  more 
extensive  than  that  of  any  other  animal,  and  its  influence  is 
naturally  greater.  In  addition  to  chemical  and  physical  stimuli 
which  are  powerful  factors  in  the  development  of  all  organisms, 
man  is  situated  in  a world  of  social  and  psychical  stimuli  which 
exert  a tremendous  influence  on  him.  He  is  stimulated  not  only 
by  his  present  environment  but  also  by  the  remembrance  of  past 
experiences  and  the  expectations  of  future  ones. 

It  is  especially  in  the  naturalistic  conception  of 
environment — a determining  factor  in  human  fate — that  Thomas 
Hardy  joins  this  school  of  thought . As  a boy  he  was  very  sen- 
sitive to  his  surroundings.  When  he  wandered  over  the  shaggy 
heath  near  his  little  home,  or  roamed  through  the  dense  wood- 
lands of  the  Wessex  country,  listening  to  the  water  rush  through 
the  mighty  weirs,  or  playing  among  the  orchards  and  cornfields 
of  the  quiet  dairy  farms,  in  villages  and  larger  towns,  he  noted 


i!  • K 

. 


■. 


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not  only  the  beauties  but  also  the  struggle  and  rivalry  of  nature 
and  animal  life.  He  has  watched  the  country  of  Wessex,  with 
its  natural  beauty  and  grandeur,  in  every  weather,  and  has  noted 
its  various  moods;  he  has  smiled  with  it  in  its  joys  and  likewise 
shared  its  struggles . In  truth,  he  has  become  the  leading  poet 
of  the  Wessex  country  . 

Mr.  Hardy  is  a passionate  lover  of  nature.  To  Tenny- 
son nature  was  a simple  joy,  a thing  to  be  delighted  in,  to  be 
learned  by  constant  association.  With  Mr.  Hardy  it  is  this  and 
more.  He  sees  it  as  a thing  to  live  with  in  closest  intimacy, 
and  thus  he  has  made  it  more  than  a mere  appropriate  background 
for  his  novels.  Nature  is  neither  a landscape,  on  which  the 
characters  are  drawn,  nor  a vague  abstraction  set  apart  from  the 
plot,  but  a well  defined,  living  personality,  a vast,  silent 
organism,  which  is  a part  not  only  of  the  substance  of  the  story 
but  an  active  participant  in  the  struggles  of  humanity.  He  has 
seen  the  part  really  played  by  natural  scenes  in  the  daily  life 
of  the  people  around  him,  and  thus  his  characters  are  literally 
children  of  the  soil — rustics  whose  occupations  are  allied 
closely  to  nature,  as  woodlanders,  dairy  maids,  shepherds,  cot- 
tagers, and  furze  cutters.  He  has  gone  down  among  these  un- 
noticed, forgotten  sons  of  the  earth  and  discovered  in  this 
average  humanity,  men  whose  lives  are  as  mysteriously  interesting 
and  as  spiritually  adventurous  as  those  of  kings  and  queens. 

In  this  myriad  of  ordinary,  everyday,  nature-pervaded  folk  he 


1 

' 


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has  affirmed  and  visualized  again  and  again  Carlyle's  dream  of 
the  infinite  shoe-black. 

Nature  or  environment,  and  human  nature  in  Mr.  Hardy's 
novels  are  constantly  acting  and  reacting  on  each  other.  At  one 
time  the  mood  and  will  of  nature  controls  the  mood  and  will  of 
man  and  holds  the  human  action  in  solution.  Then  again  nature 
is  overcome  by  the  spirit  of  man  and  is  held  in  check  for  a short 
time.  There  are  two  classes  of  environment  interpreters.  There 
are  those  who  love  their  surroundings  and  ask  no  sympathy  from 
it,  but  take  the  burdens  which  are  laid  upon  them  by  nature  with 
a happy  heart . There  are  others  who  claim  the  right  of  sympathy 
from  their  environment,  and  if  it  is  not  forthcoming  rebel  against 
the  circumstances  and  often  invent  a sympathy  of  their  own . Mr. 
Hardy  belongs  to  both  classes,  but  in  his  novels  the  mood  of 
nature  predominates  over  the  mood  of  man.  The  agnostics  of  the 
Victorian  Age  claimed  nature  had  no  purpose;  Wordsworth  believed 
in  "nature's  holy  plan";  Thomas  Hardy  shows  an  actual  relationship 
between  nature  and  humanity.  He  sees  environment  as  a material 
fate,  a power  to  mould  characters  and  to  form  destinies. 

Professor  Stuart  P.  Sherman  in  his  Contemporary  Liter- 
ature says,  "It  appeared,  in  brief,  to  his  vision  that  this  blind 
power  which  moves  through  all  things,  though  occasionally  coin- 
ciding with  human  law,  urges  men  on  to  the  fulfilment  of  its 
own  tendencies,  irrespective  of  the  disasters  which  may  conse- 
quently befall  them  in  that  social  order  established  and  regulated 


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by  reason  and  foresight.  Because,  however,  he  is  fully  aware  of 
the  resolute  power  perpetually  conflicting  with  the  incessant 
pressure  of  instinct,  naturalism  attains  in  him  to  tragedy."1 2 
To  Mr.  Hardy  life  is  a hard  and  useless  thing  because  of  binding 
conventions  and  unendurable  circumstances;  it  is  unjoyful  because 
of  the  unattained  ambitions  which  are  everywhere  apparent.  Of 
his  attitude  Professor  Sherman  writes,  "In  condemning  the  ways 
of  God  to  man  this  grim  artist  seems  obsessed  by  the  idea  that 
all  nature  is  conspiring  to  bring  a helpless  humanity  to  degrada- 
tion and  shame. Thus  we  see  Mr.  Hardy's  idea  of  environment  — 
a determining  factor  in  human  destiny,  an  active  personal  force 
in  his  novels,  so  closely  allied  with  humanity  that  it  moulds  the 
lives  and  characters  of  the  people  who  come  in  contact  with  it. 

It  is  the  purpose  of  this  thesis  to  trace  the  idea  of 
environment  through  Mr.  Hardy's  novels.  I shall  take  up  the 
novels  chronologically,  showing  the  first  appearance  of  this  idea, 
some  different  aspects  of  the  subject  which  are  introduced  along 
the  way,  and  trace  the  idea  through  to  the  end. 


1 P . 167  . 


2 P . 370  . 


. 


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CHAPTER  I. 

NOVELS  FROM  1871-1878 

In  1871,  Desperate  Remedies.  Mr.  Hardy's  first  novel, 
was  published  anonymously  . It  is  a study  chiefly  in  plot  contain- 
ing mystery,  intrigue,  crime,  melodramatic  situation,  startling 
coincidence,  and  moral  obliquity;  as  a whole  it  shows  the  dominat- 
ing influence  of  the  novelist's  predecessors  and  is  not  a fore- 
shadowing of  his  later  and  better  works  . 

The  story  is  built  up  on  the  secret  breach  of  the  social 
code  of  morality  by  a young  woman,  who  later  found  herself  in  a 
position  which  made  the  discovery  of  her  secret  dangerous.  She 
introduced  her  unrecognizing  son  into  her  employment  and  resolved 
to  bring  about  a marriage  between  him  and  the  daughter  of  a later, 
worthy  and  disappointed  lover.  This  plan,  joined  in  by  the  son, 
who  had  already  a wife,  led  to  deep  plotting  and  finally  to  murder. 
Such  a story  shows  the  author's  power  to  construct  an  elaborate 
plot,  and  to  hold  a sure  grasp  upon  every  strand  of  the  entangle- 
ment throughout  the  novel,  but  it  is  more  workmanlike  than  attrac- 
tive and  cannot  be  called  a great  novel. 

However,  in  this  early  work  Mr.  Hardy '3  keen  eye  watches 
attentively  nature  and  the  kindred  of  the  soil.  From  the  beginning 
he  is  a nature  painter  of  the  rarest  kind,  and  his  sympathetic 


-7- 


interpretat ion  is  found  in  such  a passage  as  this:  "The  water 

gurgled  down  from  the  old  mill  pond  to  a lower  level,  under  the 
cloak  of  rank  broad  leaves — the  sensuous  natures  of  the  vegetable 
world."1 2  Here  the  novelist  shows  his  idea  of  the  sentient  quali- 
ties in  nature,  the  active  personality  of  nature,  and  the  perceptior 
in  her  of  all  possible  moods  and  movements  of  the  human  conscious- 
ness . He  displays  the  power  of  this  silent  nature  in  its  effect 
upon  the  character  of  the  heroine,  Cytherea  Graye . When  Cytherea 
regained  consciousness  after  the  shock  of  her  father's  death  Mr. 
Hardy  writes,  "Recollections  of  what  had  passed  evolved  itself 
an  instant  later,  and  just  as  they  entered  the  door — through  which 
another  and  sadder  burden  had  been  carried  but  a few  instants  be- 
fore— her  eyes  caught  sig;ht  of  the  south-western  sky,  and,  without 
heeding,  saw  white  sunlight  shining  in  shaft-like  lines  from  a rift 
in  a slaty  cloud.  Emotions  will  attach  themselves  to  scenes  that 
are  simultaneous — however  foreign  in  essence  these  scenes  may  be — 
as  chemical  waters  will  crystallize  on  twigs  and  wires.  Even 
after  that  time  any  mental  agony  brought  less  vividly  to  Cytherea' s 
mind  the  scene  from  the  Town  Hall  windows  than  sunlight  streaming 

o 

in  shaft-like  lines."  Mr.  Hardy  shows  the  effect  of  sounds  upon 
Cytherea  in  this  passage:  "She  was  in  the  mood  for  sounds  of  every 

kind  now,  and  strained  her  ears  to  catch  the  faintest,  in  wayward 


1 Hardy,  Desperate  Remedies,  p.  266. 

2 Ibid.,  p.  11. 


enmity  to  her  quiet  of  mind The  sound  was  a kind  of 

intermittent  whistle  it  seemed  primarily:  no,  a creak,  a metallic 

creak,  ever  and  anon,  like  a plough,  or  a rusty  wheel  of  some  kind. 
Yes,  it  was,  a wheel — the  water-wheel  in  the  shrubbery  by  the  old 
manor-house,  which  the  coachman  had  said  would  drive  him  mad. 

"She  determined  not  to  think  any  more  of  these  gloomy 
things;  but  now  that  she  had  once  noticed  the  sound  there  was  no 
sealing  her  ears  to  it.  She  could  not  help  timing  its  creaks,  and 
putting  on  a dread  expectancy  just  before  the  end  of  each  half- 
minute  that  brought  them 

"She  shivered.  Now  she  was  determined  to  go  to  sleep; 
there  could  be  nothing  else  left  to  be  heard  or  to  imagine — it  was 
horrid  that  her  imagination  should  be  so  restless.  Yet  just  for 
an  instant  before  going  to  sleep  she  would  think  this — suppose 
another  sound  should  come — just  suppose  it  should!  Before  the 
thought  had  well  proceeded  through  her  brain,  a third  sound  came. 

"The  third  was  a very  soft  gurgle  or  rattle — of  a strange 
and  abnormal  kind — yet  a sound  she  had  heard  before  at  some  past 
period  of  her  life — when,  she  could  not  recollect.  To  make  it 
the  more  disturbing,  it  seemed  to  be  almost  close  to  her — either 
close  outside  the  window,  close  under  the  floor,  or  close  above 
the  ceiling.  The  accidental  fact  of  its  coming  so  immediately 
upon  the  heels  of  her  supposition,  told  so  powerfully  upon  her 

excited  nerves  that  she  jumped  up  in  the  bed The  third, 

then  was  an  unusual  sound . 


■ 


. 


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"It  was  not  like  water,  it  was  not  like  wind;  it  was  not 
the  night-jar,  it  was  not  a clock,  nor  a rat,  nor  a person  snoring. 

"She  crept  under  the  clothes,  and  flung  her  arms  tightly 
round  Miss  Aldcliffe,  as  if  for  protection."^  Later  in  the  book 
Mr.  Hardy  again  shows  the  power  of  nature  over  Cytherea — "Heavy 
drops  of  rain,  followed  immediately  by  a forked  flash  of  lightning 
and  sharp  rattling  thunder  compelled  her,  willingly  or  no,  to  accept 
his  invitation.  She  ascended  the  steps,  stood  beside  him  just 

within  the  porch  and  for  the  first  time  obtained  a series  of  short 

2 

views  of  his  person  as  they  waited  there  in  silence. "At  this 
moment,  by  reason  of  the  narrowness  of  the  porch,  their  dresses 

touched,  and  remained  in  contact The  touch  of  clothes, 

which  was  nothing  to  Manston,  sent  a thrill  through  Cytherea,  see- 
ing, moreover,  that  he  was  of  the  nature  of  a mysterious  stranger. 
She  looked  out  again  at  the  storm,  but  still  felt  him."  "They 
went  inside  and  Manston  sat  down  at  the  organ  and  began  playing.... 
Cytherea,  in  spite  of  herself,  was  frightened,  not  only  at  the 
weather,  but  at  the  general  unearthly  weirdness  which  seemed  to 
surround  her  there.  He  now  played  more  powerfully.  Cytherea 
had  never  heard  music  in  the  completeness  of  full  orchestral  power, 
and  the  tones  of  the  organ  which  reverberated  with  considerable 


1 Ibid.,  pp . 102-104. 

2 Ibid.,  p.  157. 

3 Ibid.,  p.  158. 


-10- 


effect  in  the  comparatively  small  space  of  the  room,  heightened 
by  the  elemental  strife  of  light  and  sound  outside,  moved  her  to 
a degree  out  of  proportion  to  the  actual  power  of  the  mere  notes, 
practiced  as  was  the  hand  that  produced  them.  The  varying 
strains — now  loud,  now  soft;  simple,  complicated,  weird,  touching, 
grand,  boisterous,  subdued;  each  phase  distinct,  yet  modulating 
into  the  next  with  a graceful  and  easy  flow — shook  and  bent  her 
to  themselves,  as  a gushing  brook  shakes  and  bends  a shadow  cast 
across  its  surface.  The  power  of  the  music  did  not  show  itself 
so  much  by  attracting  her  attention  to  the  subject  of  the  piece, 
as  by  taking  up  and  developing  as  its  libretto  the  poem  of  her 
own  life  and  soul,  shifting  her  deeds  and  intentions  from  the 
hands  of  her  judgment  and  holding  them  in  its  own. 

"She  was  swayed  into  emotional  opinions  concerning  the 
strange  man  before  her;  new  impulses  of  thought  came  with  new 
harmonies,  and  entered  into  her  with  a gnawing  thrill.  A dread- 
ful flash  of  lightning  then,  and  the  thunder  close  upon  it.  She 
found  herself  involuntarily  shrinking  up  beside  him  and  looking 
with  parted  lips  at  his  face.n^  A few  minutes  later  the  storm 
decreased  in  violence.  "Cytherea  drew  a long  breath  of  relief, 
and  prepared  to  go  away  . She  was  full  of  a distressing  sense 
that  her  detention  in  the  old  manor-house,  and  the  acquaintance- 


1 Ibid.,  pp.  161-162. 


-11- 


ship  it  had  set  on  foot,  was  not  a thing  she  wished.  It  was 
such  a foolish  thing  to  have  been  excited  and  dragged  into  frank- 
ness by  the  wiles  of  a stranger. 

"'Allow  me  to  come  with  you,  ' he  said His 

influence  over  her  had  vanished  with  the  musical  chords,  and  she 
turned  her  back  upon  him."'1 2'  Finally  Mr.  Hardy  shows  the  effect 
of  natural  surroundings  on  the  heroine  in  this  passage:  "The 

stillness  of  this  place  oppressed  and  reduced  her  to  mere  passiv- 
ity. The  only  wish  the  humidity  of  the  place  left  in  her  was 
to  stand  motionless.  The  helpless  flatness  of  the  landscape 
gave  her,  as  it  gives  all  such  temperaments,  a sense  of  bare 
equality  with,  and  no  superiority  to,  a single  entity  under  the 

o 

sky."  These  passages  show  distinctly  the  power  nature  exerted 
over  Cytherea . Because  of  her  inability  to  remain  firm  against 
external  influences  she  was  tossed  to  and  fro  by  unexpected 
circumstances . 

Thus  Desperate  Remedies  is  a study  chiefly  in  plot  and 
sensation.  Even  in  this  exciting  and  thrilling  narrative  Mr. 
Hardy  stops. in  several  places  and  draws  beautiful  nature  passages, 
but  nature  has  a subordinate  place  in  the  story  compared  with  the 
following  novels.  In  these  passages  he  interprets  the  personal 
qualities  of  nature  and  shows  how  "white  sunlight  shining  in 


1 Ibid . , p . 163 . 

2 Ibid.,  p.  266. 


-12- 


shaft-like  lines  from  a rift  in  a slaty  cloud,"  how  the  noise 
from  an  old  mill  wheel,  how  the  flashes  of  lightning,  and  how 
music  in  the  "completeness  of  full  orchestral  power,"  affected 
the  heroine's  nature  and  influenced  her  character.  The  author 
has  clearly  shown  the  power  of  this  sentient  nature  over  the 
individual  but  he  does  not  characterize  nature  as  deliberately 
planning  "to  bring  all  humanity  to  degradation  and  shame"  as  he 
does  in  his  later  works  . 

It  is  in  Under  the  Greenwood  Tree,  the  second  novel, 
published  anonymously  in  1873,  that  Mr.  Hardy's  peculiar  gifts 
are  first  introduced.  This  book  is  indeed  the  door  through 
which  one  passes  directly  into  the  main  body  of  the  novelist's 
work,  to  see  the  full  length  of  the  building  which  stretches  be- 
yond. There  is  no  melodramatic  situation,  no  startling  coin- 
cidence, no  intricately  constructed  narrative  in  this  novel  as 
is  found  in  Desperate  Remedies.  It  may  be  regarded  as  a pre- 
liminary statement  of  the  type  of  material  and  the  kind  of  spirit, 

which  are  to  be  more  extensively  and  elaborately  used  later. 

The  story  is  of  a rural  courtship,  spiced  with  intimate  and  kindly 
humor,  very  delicately  and  charmingly  told;  no  profound  psychology 
or  hidden  mysteries  lurk  in  it.  Although  the  scope  of  the  novel 

is  small  and  the  texture  somewhat  slight,  this  pleasing  rural 

story  shows  the  true  charm:  of  a quaint  and  secluded  part  of 
England  before  it  was  oppressed  by  modern  industrialism  and  had 


■ 


t 


. 


-13- 


yislded  to  the  telegraph,  railroad,  and  graded  school,  or  had 
been  finally  submerged  in  the  melting  pot  of  the  World  War. 

In  Desperate  Remedies,  nature  came  into  the  plot  only 
incidentally  but  in  Under  the  Greenwood  Tree  the  whole  story  Is 
permeated  by  the  rustic  setting.  The  book  opens  with  this  pas- 
sage: ”To  dwellers  in  a wood  almost  every  species  of  tree  has 

its  voice  as  well  as  its  feature.  At  the  passing  of  the  breeze 
the  fir-trees  sob  and  moan  no  less  distinctly  than  they  rock; 
the  holly  whistles  as  it  battles  with  itself  ; the  ash  hisses 
amid  its  quiverings;  the  beech  rustles  while  its  flat  boughs 
rise  and  fall.  And  winter,  which  modifies  the  note  of  such 
trees  as  shed  their  leaves,  does  not  destroy  its  individuality. 

"On  a cold  starry  Christmas-eve  within  living  memory, 
a man  was  passing  up  a lane  near  Mellstock  Gross,  in  the  darkness 
of  a plantation  which  whispered  thus  distinctively  to  his  in- 
telligence."'1' Here  Mr.  Hardy  shows  the  sentient,  personal 
qualities  of  nature  which  are  found  in  his  previous  novel  but 
not  once  does  he  specifically  show  the  effect  of  nature  upon  the 
character  of  an  individual . Twice  he  makes  known  that  the 
persons  are  conscious  of  their  narrow  surroundings,  but  he  does 
not  show  environment  in  the  act  of  narrowing  them.  When  Dick 
asked  for  Fancy  Mr.  Day  replied,  "D'ye  think  Fancy  picked  up 
her  good  manners,  the  smooth  turn  of  her  tongue,  her  musical 


1 Under  the  Greenwood  Tree,  p . 3 . 


n ■ 


-14- 


skill,  and  her  knowledge  of  books,  in  a homely  hole  like  this?”1 2 
Fancy  in  a letter  of  Mr.  Maybold  wrote,  ”It  is  my  nature — -per- 
haps all  women's — to  love  refinement  of  mind  and  manners;  but 
even  more  than  this,  to  be  ever  fascinated  with  the  idea  of 
surroundings  more  elegant  and  luxurious  than  those  which  have 

ri 

been  customary."^ 

Thus  Under  the  Greenwood  Tree  is  a lovely  summer ' 3 
story  in  which  the  youthful  mood  of  the  world  is  delicately  re- 
flected. The  whole  story  is  pervaded  by  the  spirit  of  nature. 

The  lives  of  this  secluded  folk  are  closely  linked  to  their 
environment  and  with  it  they  are  joyful  in  their  small  rustic 
world.  True,  the  surroundings  have  moulded  their  lives  but 
only  two  persons  are  conscious  of  its  narrowing  power.  There 
is  no  idea  of  nature  asserting  itself  against  the  individual  in 
an  antagonistic  manner.  There  is  no  revolting  against  its 
binding  force  but  a calm  happy  acceptance  of  the  environment. 

In  this  secluded  spot  the  natives  find  love,  peace,  and  happiness. 

In  A Pair  of  Blue  5vss  of  1873,  the  first  novel  to 
bear  Thomas  Hardy's  name,  the  tragic  note  of  battle  with  in- 
evitable environment  is  first  struck  with  a deep  sound.  The 
story  is  based  upon  the  love  of  a master  and  his  pupil  for  a 
blue-eyed  little  girl,  and  the  inevitable  circumstances  which 


1 Ibid . , p . 208 . 

2 Ibid.,  p.  244. 


' 


-15- 


attend  the  heroine  every  step  of  the  way.  On  the  first  page  of 
the  novel  Mr.  Hardy  shows  Elf ride's  environment  and  its  effect 
upon  her.  In  a large  measure  this  statement  may  explain  her 
tragic  life:  "She  had  lived  all  her  life  in  retirement — the 

t 

monstrari  digit o of  idle  men  had  not  flattered  her,  at  the  age 
of  nineteen  or  twenty  she  was  no  further  on  in  social  conscious- 
ness than  an  unborn  young  lady  of  fifteen. "x  Being  brought 
up  in  this  fashion,  she  naturally  fell  in  love  with  the  inter- 
esting young  man  who  came  from  the  city  to  her  remote  home. 

The  idea  of  the  child's  environment  springs  forth  again  when 
this  young  man's  mother  said  to  him,  "Living  down  in  an  outstep 
place  like  this,  I am  sure  she  ought  to  be  very  thankful  that 
you  took  notice  of  her.  She'd  most  likely  have  died  an  old 
maid  if  you  hadn't  turned  up."1 2 3  The  novelist  remarked,  "The 
circumstances  of  her  lonely  and  narrow  life  made  it  imperative 
that  in  trotting  about  the  neighbourhood  she  must  trot  alone 
or  else  not  at  all."  Even  the  new  stepmother  was  struck  by 
the  childishness  and  inexperience  of  Elfride,  caused  by  her 
natural  environment . When  she  tried  to  write  a book  the  new 
stepmother  said  to  her,  "Knowing  nothing  of  the  present  age 
which  everybody  knows  about,  for  safety  you  chose  an  age  known 


1 A Pair  of  Blue  Eves,  p . 1 . 

2 Ibid.,  p.  105. 

3 Ibid.,  p.  119. 


. 


■ 


-16- 


neither  to  you  nor  other  people.  "I  Once  again  Mr.  Hardy  shows 
how  Elf ride's  natural  surroundings  had  impressed  her.  When 
she  went  to  London  with  her  stepmother  and  entered  into  society 
the  author  states,  "Elf ride  could  not  but  admire  the  beauty  of 
her  fellow  country -men,  especially  since  herself  and  her  own 
few  acquaintances  had  always  been  slightly  sunburnt  or  marked  on 
the  back  of  the  hands  by  a bramble -scratch  at  this  time  of  the 
year.""’’  Later  when  Knight  and  Elf ride  became  engaged,  he  saw 
the  effect  of  environment  in  making  her  small  world  and  said, 

"To  think  that  I should  have  discovered  such  an  unseen  flower 
down  there  in  the  West — to  whom  a man  is  as  much  as  a multitude 
to  some  women,  and  a trip  down  the  English  Channel  like  a voyage 
around  the  world'."1 * 3  It  was  because  of  the  unpleasantness  of 
her  surroundings  that  Elf ride  finally  married  Lord  Luxellian. 

The  servant  said,  "I  may  as  well  speak  plainly,  and  tell  you  that 
her  home  was  no  home  to  her  now.  Her  father  wa3  bitter  to  her 
and  harsh  upon  her;  though  Mrs.  Swancourt  was  well  enough  in 
her  way,  ' twas  a sort  of  cold  politeness  that  was  not  worth 
much  and  the  little  thing  had  a worrying  time  of  it  altogether."4 


1 Ibid.,  p.  146. 

2 . Ibid . , p . 163  . 

3 Ibid  . , p . 2S8  . 

4 Ibid.,  p.  453. 


-17- 


Thus  we  see  that  the  cause  of  the  tragedy  in  her  life  can  be 
laid  at  the  door  of  her  natural  environment . 

Mr.  Hardy  displays  the  power  of  silent  nature  in  its 
effect  upon  the  character  of  Elf ride.  "She  peered  out  as  well 
as  the  window,  beaded  with  drops,  would  allow  her,  and  saw  only 
the  lamps,  which  had  just  been  lit,  blinking  in  the  wet  atmosphere 
and  rows  of  hideous  zinc  chimney -pipes  in  dim  relief  against  the 
sky.  She  writhed  uneasily,  as  when  a thought  is  swelling  in 
the  mind  which  must  cause  much  pain  at  its  deliverance  in  words... 
'0  Stephen,'  she  exclaimed,  'I  am  so  miserable  1 I must  go  home 
again — I must — I must'.  Forgive  my  wretched  vacillation.  I 
don't  like  it  here — nor  myself — nor  you'.'"1 2  Even  a clouded 
sky  affected  Elf ride's  nature — "It  was  a cloudy  afternoon. 

Elf ride  was  often  diverted  from  a purpose  by  a dull  sky;  and 
though  she  used  to  persuade  herself  that  the  weather  was  as  fine 
as  possible  on  the  other  side  of  the  clouds,  she  could  not  bring 
about  any  practical  result  from  this  fancy.  Now,  her  mood  was 
such  that  the  humid  sky  harmonized  with  it."  Again  Mr.  Hardy 
shows  the  sentient  qualities  of  environment  and  its  effect  upon 
the  heroine — "It  is  with  cliffs  and  mountains  as  with  persons; 
they  have  what  is  called  a presence,  which  is  not  necessarily 
proportionate  to  their  actual  bulk.  A little  cliff  will  im- 


1 Ibid.,  pp . 131-132. 

2 Ibid.,  p.  240. 


- 


. 


V 


■ 


-18- 


impress  you  powerfully;  a great  one  not  at  all.  It  depends,  as 
with  man,  upon  the  countenance  of  the  cliff. 

" ' I cannot  bear  to  look  at  that  cliff,1  said  Elf ride. 
'It  has  a horrid  personality,  and  makes  me  shudder.  We  will 

go  . 1 

For  the  first  time  in  the  novels  of  this  period  the 
author  shows  nature  antagonistic  to  man.  When  Elf ride  left 
Knight  in  the  perilous  situation  on  the  cliff  Mr.  Hardy  remarks, 
"Knight  could  only  look  sternly  at  nature's  treacherous  attempt 
to  put  an  end  to  him,  and  strive  to  thwart  her.""'  "To  those 
musing  weather-beaten  West-Country  folk  who  pass  the  greater 
part  of  their  days  and  nights  out  of  door3,  nature  seems  to 
have  moods  in  other  than  a poetical  sense;  predilections  for 
certain  deeds  at  certain  times,  without  any  apparent  law  to 
govern  or  season  to  account  for  them.  She  is  read  as  a person 
with  a curious  temper;  as  one  who  does  not  scatter  kindnesses 
and  cruelties  alternately,  impartially,  and  in  order,  but  heart- 
less severities  or  overwhelming  generosities  in  lawless  caprice. 
Man's  case  is  always  that  of  the  prodigal's  favorite  or  the 
miser's  pensioner.  In  her  unfriendly  moments  there  seems  a 
feline  fun  in  her  tricks,  begotten  by  a foretaste  of  her  pleasure 


1 

Ibid., 

P • 

344  . 

2 

Ibid . , 

P • 

253  . 

-19- 


in  swallowing  the  victim.”^  The  power  of  nature  over  Knight 
is  expressed  in  this  passage:  "The  rain  increased,  and  perse- 

cuted him  with  an  exceptional  persistency  which  he  was  moved  to 
believe  owed  its  cause  to  the  fact  that  he  was  in  such  a wretched 
state  already.  An  entirely  new  order  of  things  could  be  ob- 
served in  this  introduction  of  rain  upon  the  scene.  It  rained 
upward  instead  cf  down.  The  strong  ascending  air  carried  the 
rain-drops  with  it  in  its  race  up  the  escarpment,  coming  to  him 
with  such  velocity  that  they  stuck  into  his  flesh  like  cold 
needles.  Each  drop  was  virtually  a shaft,  and  it  pierced  him 
to  his  skin.  The  water-shafts  seemed  to  lift  him  on  their 
points;  no  downward  rain  ever  had  such  a torturing  effect.  In 
a brief  space  he  was  drenched,  except  in  two  places.  These 
were  on  the  top  of  his  shoulders  and  on  the  crown  of  his  hat . 

’’The  wind,  though  not  intense  in  other  situations, 
was  strong  here.  It  tugged  at  his  coat  and  lifted  it.  We  are 
mostly  accustomed  to  look  upon  all  opposition  which  is  not  ani- 
mate, as  that  of  the  stolid,  inexorable  hand  of  indifference, 
which  wears  out  the  patience  more  than  the  strength.  Here,  at 
any  rate,  hostility  did  not  assume  that  slew  and  sickening  form. 

It  was  a cosmic  agency,  active,  lashing,  eager  for  conquest: 

o 

determination;  not  an  insensate  standing  in  the  way.” 


1 Ibid  . , p . 254  . 

2 Ibid.,  pp.  254-255. 


. 


■ 


• • 


-20- 


Thua  A Pair  of  Blue  Eves  is  "a  tragedy  of  the  human 
will  believing  itself  free  yet  ceaselessly  tangled  and  thwarted 
by  external  forces. "x  Thomas  Hardy  shows  a sweet,  innocent, 
inexperienced  child,  secluded  in  a remote  place,  kept  back  from 
social  advantages  and  a full  knowledge  of  the  world  by  her  natur- 
al environment.  Elf ride  became  entangled  in  a net  of  circum- 
stances from  which  she  could  not  extricate  herself,  and  in  her 
innocence  and  inability  to  clear  up  a misunderstanding  she  was 
thought  guilty  by  a man  who  had  narrow  social  ideals.  The 
novelist  places  the  blame  upon  her  environment  and  training. 

He  says,  "It  is  difficult  to  frame  rules  which  shall  apply  to 
both  sexes,  and  Elfride,  an  undeveloped  girl,  must,  perhaps,  hard- 
ly be  laden  with  the  moral  responsibilities  which  attach  to  a 

o 

man  in  like  circumstances."  As  in  Desperate  Remedies  the  cloudy 
the  cliffs,  and  the  rain  affected  the  character  of  the  heroine. 

For  the  first  time  Mr.  Hardy  shows  nature  planning  to  bring  an 
individual  to  destruction.  Environment  plays  a larger  part  in 
this  novel  than  in  the  preceding  ones.  It  moulds  the  life  of 
the  heroine  but  it  does  not  definitely  determine  the  outcome  of 
the  story  . 

The  next  year  (1874)  in  which  Thomas  Hardy  married  and 
returned  to  his  rural  home  he  produced  Far  From  the  Madding 


1 Chew,  Thomas  Hardv  Poet  and  Novelist,  p.  155. 
3 A Pair  of  Blue  Eves,  p . 313  . 


. 


. 


. 


-31- 


Crowd,  which  was  at  once  hailed  as  a really  great  novel  and  which 
has  endured  the  test  of  time.  The  main  thread  of  the  story  is 
the  love  of  three  men  of  different  stations  in  life  and  widely 
contrasting  temperaments  for  one  woman.  Contrary  to  a great 
many  of  Mr.  Hardy's  novels  the  story  ends  in  a way  which  is  pleas- 
ing to  all.  It  is  truly  a rural  novel  from  beginning  to  end. 

In  describing  this  rural  environment  the  author  says,  "In  com- 
parison with  cities,  Weatherbury  was  immutable.  The  citizen's 
Then  is  the  rustic's  Now.  In  London,  twenty  or  thirty  years 
ago  are  old  times;  in  Paris  ten  years,  or  five;  in  Weatherbury 
three  or  four  score  years  were  included  in  the  mere  present,  and 
nothing  less  than  a century  set  a mark  on  its  face  and  tone. 

Five  decades  hardly  modified  the  cut  of  a gaiter,  the  embroidery 
of  a smock-frock,  by  the  breadth  of  a hair.  Ten  generations 
failed  to  alter  the  turn  of  a single  phrase.  In  these  Wessex 
nooks  the  busy  outsider's  ancient  times  are  only  old;  his  old 
times  are  still  new;  his  present  is  futurity. "x 

The  power  of  environment  over  an  individual  is  seen 
in  its  shaping  of  Gabriel  Oak's  life.  He  was  closely  and  will- 
ingly associated  with  the  earth.  "Being  a man  not  without  a 
frequent  consciousness  that  there  was  some  charm  in  this  life 
he  led,  he  stood  still  after  looking  at  the  sky  as  a useful 


1 Far  From  the  Madding  Crowd,  p . 167 . 


. 


. 


■ 


. 

. 


-23- 


inatrument,  and  regarded  it  in  an  appreciative  spirit,  as  a work 
of  art  superlatively  beautiful.  For  a moment  he  seemed  im- 
pressed with  the  speaking  loneliness  of  the  scene,  or  rather 
with  the  complete  abstraction  from  all  its  compass  of  the  sights 
and  sounds  of  man."'1'  He  was  so  closely  connected  with  his  en- 
vironment that  he  knew  all  the  habits  and  moods  of  nature.  "In 
approaching  the  door,  his  toe  kicked  something  which  felt  and 
sounded  soft,  leathery,  and  distended,  like  a boxing  glove. 

It  was  a large  toad  humbly  travelling  across  the  path.  Oak  took 
it  up,  thinking  it  might  be  better  to  kill  the  creature  to  save 
it  from  pain;  but  finding  it  uninjured,  he  placed  it  again  among 
the  grass . He  knew  what  this  direct  message  from  the  Great 
Mother  meant.  And  soon  came  another. 

"When  he  struck  a light  indoors  there  appeared  upon 
the  table  a thin  glistening  streak,  as  if  a brush  of  varnish  had 
been  lightly  dragged  across  it.  Oak’s  eyes  followed  the  ser- 
pentine sheen  to  the  other  side,  where  it  led  up  to  a huge  brown 
garden-slug,  which  had  come  indoors  to-night  for  reasons  of  its 
own.  It  was  nature’s  second  way  of  hinting  to  him  that  he  was 

to  prepare  for  foul  weather Apparently  there  was  to  be  a 

thunderstorm,  and  afterwards  a cold  continuous  rain.  The  creep- 
ing things  seemed  to  know  all  about  the  later  rain,  but  little 


1 Ibid.,  p.  13. 


. 


* 

■ *# 


. 


■ 

* 


-33- 


of  the  interpolated  thunderstorm;  whilst  the  sheep  knew  all  about 
the  thunderstorm  and  nothing  of  the  later  rain."'*' 

The  tragedy  is  woven  around  Bathsheba .Everdene  and  is 
dominated  by  her.  She  is  the  best  representative  of  Mr.  Hardy’s 
belief  in  a woman's  inability  to  press  independently  and  steadily 
towards  the  goal  she  has  placed  before  her.  With  all  her  de- 
termination to  manage  her  estate  for  herself  and  her  ambition 
to  overcome  the  circumstances  of  her  surroundings  she  was  forced 
to  depend  upon  Oak.  When  there  was  trouble  in  the  sheep  folk 
she  found  that  she  was  dependent  upon  Oak  to  free  her  from  a 
net  of  circumstances  caused  by  her  surroundings.  Environment 
also  affected  her  nature,  "The  fungi  grew  in  all  manner  of  posi- 
tions from  rotting  leaves  and  tree  stumps,  some  exhibiting  to 
her  listless  gaze  their  clammy  tops,  others  their  oozing  gills.... 
The  hollow  seemed  a nursery  of  pestilences  small  and  great,  in 
the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  comfort  and  health,  and  Bathsheba 

arose  with  a tremor  at  the  thought  of  having  passed  the  night  on 

3 

the  brink  of  so  dismal  a place."  Through  the  story  Mr.  Hardy 
shows  the  personal,  sensuous  qualities  of  nature.  "Oak  raised 
his  head  and  listlessly  surveyed  the  scene.  By  the  outer  margin 
of  the  pit  was  an  oval  pond,  and  over  it  hung  the  attenuated 
skeleton  of  a chrome-yellow  moon,  which  had  only  a few  days  to 


1 Ibid.,  pp . 385-286. 

2 Ibid .,  p . 356 . 


. 


. 


-24- 


last — the  morning  star  dogging  her  on  the  right  hand.  The  pool 
glittered  like  a dead  man's  eye,  and  as  the  world  awoke  a breeze 
blew,  shaking  and  elongating  its  deflection  of  the  moon  without 
breaking  it,  and  turning  the  image  of  the  star  to  a phosphoric 
streak  upon  the  water. "1  This  picture  is  essentially  descrip- 
tive yet  it  seems  to  be  vitalized  by  almost  human  emotion. 

Thus  in  Far  From  the  Madding  Crowd  environment  has 
moulded  the  life  of  the  hero  and  affected  the  nature  and  actions 
of  the  heroine  to  a considerable  degree.  All  nature — the  woods, 
the  stars,  the  vegetable  world,  the  moors,  and  the  sunsets  are 
used  as  something  more  than  mere  backgrounds;  Mr.  Hardy  has  made 
them  into  personalities.  Nowhere  in  the  story  is  this  strong, 
personal  nature  antagonistic  to  man  as  it  is  in  the  novels  of  the 
next  period. 

On  the  whole  the  four  novels  of  this  period  show  about 
the  same  degree  and  the  same  idea  of  environment  . Desperate 
Remedies . although  it  is  not  pervaded  by  nature,  shows  nature 
affecting  the  character  and  actions  of  the  heroine  but  it  does 
not  deliberately  plan  her  destiny.  Under  the  Greenwood  Tree 
is  permeated  by  nature.  Environment  has  shaped  the  lives  of  the 
characters  but  only  two  persons  are  conscious  of  it.  Nature  is 
tacitly  and  happily  accepted  by  all  and  it  does  not  lead  to 
tragedy.  A Pair  of  Blue  Eves  shows  the  power  of  nature  in 


1 Ibid.,  p . 41 . 


-25- 


dwarf  ing  a child's  life  and  depriving  her  of  a full  knowledge  of 
the  world.  The  elements  of  nature  affect  her  character  and  ac- 
tions. For  the  first  and  only  time  in  this  period  Mr.  Hardy 
shows  nature  antagonistic  to  man  and  deliberately  plotting  to 
bring  him  to  destruction.  Far  From  the  Madding  Crowd  shows  the 
effect  of  environment  on  the  character  of  the  heroine  in  her  use- 
less efforts  to  be  mistress  of  herself  and  her  property.  En- 
vironment has  affected  the  hero  in  that  he  has  willingly  been 
immersed  in  the  common  life  of  the  earth.  On  the  whole  these 
first  four  novels  show  the  beautiful  side  of  nature  and  leave  out 
the  harsher  elements.  They  show  environment  affecting  the  in- 
dividual in  an  incidental  way  and  not  as  a force  which  definitely 
and  permanently  moulds  characters  and  forms  destinies,  and  plans 
"to  bring  all  humanity  to  degradation  and  shame." 

Mr.  Hardy  displayed  rare  judgment  and  wisdom  in  with- 
holding his  pessimistic  philosophy  of  life  from  his  novels  until 
he  had  obtained  attention  from  his  literary  contemporaries  and 
had  established  his  place  as  a novel  writer  of  no  small  merit. 

Yet  it  is  known  that  he  held  the  naturalistic  views  of  life,  in- 
cluding the  power  of  heredity  and  environment  to  determine  the 
destiny  of  an  individual,  and  had  displayed  it  in  poems  of  an 
earlier  date.  In  1866,  five  years  before  he  wrote  Desperate 
Remedies . his  first  novel,  he  published  a little  poem  entitled 
To  an  Unborn  Pauper  Child  which  truly  shows  his  idea  of  the 
helplessness  of  an  individual  in  the  power  of  environment.  He 


. 


: 


. 


. 


' 


. 


-26- 


says  : 

"Breathe  not,  hid  heart;  cease  silently 
And  though  thy  birth-hour  beckons  thee, 

Sleep  the  long  sleep: 

The  Doomsters  heap 
Travails  and  teens  around  us  here. 

And  Time-wraiths  turn  our  songsingings  to  fear. 

II  . 

"Hark,  how  the  peoples  surge  and  sigh, 

And  laughters  fail,  and  greetings  die: 

Hopes  dwindle;  yea, 

Faiths  waste  away, 

Affections  and  enthusiasms  numb; 

Thou  canst  not  mend  these  things  if  thou  dost  come. 

Ill  . 

"Had  I the  ere  of  wombed  souls 
Ere  their  terrestrial  chart  unrolls. 

And  thou  wert  free 
To  cease,  or  be 

Then  would  I tell  thee  all  I know. 

And  put  it  to  thee:  Wilt  thou  take  Life  so? 

IV. 

"Vain  vow1.  No  hint  of  mine  may  hence 
To  theeward  fly;  to  thy  locked  sense 
Explain  none  can 
Life's  pending  plan: 

Thou  wilt  thy  ignorant  entry  make 
Though  skies  spout  fire  and  blood  and  nations  quake. 

V. 

"Fain  would  I,  dear,  find  some  shut  plot 
Of  earth's  wide  wold  for  thee,  where  not 
One  tear,  one  qualm. 

Should  break  the  calm . 

But  I am  weak  as  thou  and  bare ; 

No  man  can  change  the  common  lot  to  rare. 

VI . 

"Must  come  and  bide  . And  such  are  we— 

Unreasoning,  sanguine,  visionary — 

That  I can  hope 
Health,  love,  friends,  scope 
In  full  for  thee;  can  dream  thou' It  fjind 
Joys  seldom  yet  attained  by  humankind'." 


1 Selected  Poems  of  Thomas  Hardy,  p . 102 . 


-27- 


Mr . Cunliffe  in  English  Literature  During  the  Last 
Century  says,  "It  would  have  astonished  contemporary  admirers  of 
the  rich  humor  and  rural  charm  of  Under  the  Greenwood  Tree  and 
Far  From  the  Madding  Crowd  to  know  that  such  bitter  thoughts  were 
already  lodged  in  the  author’s  mind.  He  had  taken  rank  as  an 
idyllist,  and  an  idyllist  for  many  readers  he  remained  long  after 
the  full  scope  of  his  intentions  as  a novelist  was  revealed."1 

This  dark  philosophy  including  the  idea  of  environment 
expressed  in  this  little  poem--a  powerful  factor  which  is  either 
the  maker  or  breaker  of  man--is  given  free  reign  by  Mr.  Hardy  in 
the  novels  of  the  next  period. 


1 P.  43. 


■ 


* 

* 


-28- 


CHAPTER  II. 

NOVELS  FROM  1876-1891 

The  Return  of  the  Native  published  in  1878  is  declared 
by  numerous  critics  to  be  Mr.  Hardy's  most  nearly  perfect  work 
of  act  as  well  as  his  most  profound  and  least  prejudiced  study 
of  human  nature.  In  spite  of  its  admirable  qualities  it  was 
not  as  well  received  as  Far  From  the  Madding  Crowd  and  one  critic 
even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  was  decidedly  inferior  to 
anything  Thomas  Hardy  had  yet  written.  The  thread  of  the  story 
is  the  love  entanglement  between  two  women  and  three  men.  Two 
of  these  characters  are  in  direct  contrast  with  two  others.  The 
first  two,  Eustacia  and  Wilde ve,  are  highly  complex  natures, 
impulsive,  passionate,  selfish,  but  not  without  some  character- 
istics which  in  different  circumstances  might  have  been  turned 
to  good;  they  are  at  odds  with  life  and  in  constant  war  with  the 
conditions  among  which  they  are  placed.  The  second  two,  Thomasin 
and  Venn,  are  simple,  steady  and  courageous;  they  are  steeped  in 
their  surroundings  and  in  harmony  with  them.  The  story  is  a 
tragedy  of  temperaments,  a struggling  of  the  young,  the  weak, 
the  coarse  against  the  old,  the  strong,  the  refined.  Over  all 
the  characters  broods  the  dark  spirit  of  Egdon  which  embodies  in 
poetic  form  the  modern  fates  of  Heredity  and  Environment . 


-29- 


The  entire  novel  is  pervaded  by  the  spirit  of  the  heath. 
The  words  "Egdon"  and  "heath”  are  used  two  hundred  and  fifty-five 
times  during  the  story  . "Egdon  is  not  only  the  scene  of  the  tale 

it  dominates  the  plot  and  determines  the  characters.  It  is  sen- 
tient: it  feels,  it  speaks,  it  slays.  The  book  opens  with  an 
impressive  introduction  to  this,  the  protagonist  of  the  drama."'1' 
Mr.  Hardy  says,  "It  was  at  present  a place  perfectly  accordant 
with  man’s  nature — neither  ghastly,  hateful,  nor  ugly;  neither 
commonplace,  unmeaning,  nor  tame;  but,  like  man,  slighted  and 
enduring;  and  withal  singularly  colossal  and  mysterious  in  its 
swarthy  monotony . As  with  some  persons  who  have  long  lived 
apart,  solitude  seemed  to  look  out  of  its  countenance.  It  had 
a lonely  face  suggesting  tragical  possibilities  . " ° "It  was  a 
face  upon  which  time  makes  but  little  impression.  Its  sombre 
nature  intensifies  the  sad  hours  of  day  and  night,  and  is  enig- 
matic, needing  explanation.  Exhaling  darkness,  it  lies  Titanic, 

in  broodful  anticipation  of the .crack  oi  doom , and  its  haggard 

asceticism  is  friend  only  to  the  stormy  visitations  of  the 
elements:  it  feels  only  as  a light  caress  the  tempest  that 
wrenches  its  trees  like  bones  in  their  sockets.  It  is  changeless 
as  the  heavens  or  the  sea,  and  moulded  only  by  vast  geologic 
fingers.  The  power  of  its  infinite  vegetable  existence  is 


1 Duff  in,  Thomas  Hardy , p.  57. 
3 Return  of  the  Native,  p . 65  . 


* 


. 


■ 


: 


-30- 


hidden  under  the  mask  of  an  apparent  death-like  torpor.  It 
barely  heeds  the  changes  of  the  seasons — only  in  mid-summer  does 
it  flame  in  crimson  and  scarlet;  and  no  absolute  hour  of  the  day 
is  reckoned  by  the  dwellers  on  its  monotonous  surface;  nor  is  it 
responsive  to  the  pale  beams  of  the  watery  moon. 

"Without  doubt  it  lives;  Egdon  has  a colossal  human 
existence.  It  is  untamable,  Ishmaelitish.  At  nightfall  it 
wakes  to  a watchful  intentness.  It  is  vocal  with  a tone  as 
weird  as  the  3ea's  own;  a worn  whisper,  dry  and  pape^,  the  ruins 
of  song;  a voice  that  varies  with  intelligent  differentiation 
according  to  the  character  of  the  various  parts  of  the  heath — 

*i'’  ■/ 

acoustic  pictures  are  returned  from  the  darkened  scenery.  It 
stubbornly  asserts  its  privileges  against  cultivation,  and  drives 
back  the  despairing  tillage  from  its  barbaric  soil.  What  re- 
sponse of  awakening  it  gives  to  the  oncoming  of  spring  is  feline 
in  its  stealthiness.  To  its  best-loved  child  it  renders  chilly 
premonition  at  the  approach  of  evil;  and,  the  evil  having  fallen 
upon  his  soul,  his  anguish  is  met  by  the  imperturbable  countenance 
of  the  heath,  which,  having  defied  the  cataclysmal  onset  of  cen- 
turies, reduced  to  insignificance  by  its  seamed  and  antique 
features  the  wildest  turmoil  of  a single  man! "x  It  is  this 
Egdon,  the  environment  which  permeats  the  whole  novel,  that  makes 


1 Duff in,  Thomas  Hardy,  pp . 57-58. 


' 

— - 

. 


: , 


- 


■ 


-31- 

or  mars  the  lives  of  the  persons  who  dwell  amid  its  purple 
heather . 

To  Eustacia  Vye,  the  heroine,  "the  queen  of  night"1 2 3 
with  "the  pagan  eyes  full  of  nocturnal  mysteries , the  heath 
was  a cruel  taskmaster.  She  wa3  ambitious,  jealous,  domineering, 
romantic  by  nature.  Her  stormy  passion  was  to  conquer  and  com- 
mand, to  have  in  all  things  no  law  but  her  own  willful  nature. 

To  her  the  world  was  a gigantic  deliberate  conspiracy,  conscious- 
ly plotting  and  inventing  devices  for  her  ruin;  to  her,  nature 
was  tragic,  and  it  was  necessary  that  she  be  the  center  of  her 
universe.  Mr.  Hardy  says,  "Eustacia  Vye  was  the  raw  material 
of  divinity  . On  Olympus  she  would  have  done  well  with  a little 
preparation.  She  had  the  passions  and  instincts  which  make  a 
model  goddess,  that  is,  those  which  make  not  quite  a model  woman. 
Had  it  been  possible  for  the  earth  and  mankind  to  be  entirely  in 
her  grasp  for  a while,  had  she  handled  the  distaff,  the  spindle 
and  the  shears  at  her  own  free  will,  few  in  the  world  would  have 
noticed  the  change  of  government.  There  would  have  been  the 
same  equality  of  lot,  the  same  heaping  up  of  favors  here,  of 
contumely  there,  the  same  generosity  before  justice,  the  same 
perpetual  dilemmas,  the  same  captious  alternations  of  caresses 
and  blows  that  we  endure  now." 


1 Return  of  the  Native,  p . 65 . 

2 Ibid . , p . 66 . 

3 Ibid.,  p.  65. 


. 


. 


:e  il 


' ' ' ' r3iiHfl 




' 


-33- 


"Why  did  a woman  of  this  sort  live  on  Egdon  Heath? 
Budmouth  was  her  native  place,  a fashionable  seaside  resort  at 
that  date."1  After  her  parents'  death  she  was  left  in  care  of 
her  grandfather  and  went  to  live  at  his  home  on  the  heath.  "She 
hated  the  change;  she  felt  like  one  banished;  but  here  she  was 
forced  to  abide."2 3  Her  "celestial  imperiousness,  love,  wrath, 
and  fervor  had  proved  to  be  somewhat  thrown  away  on  netherward 
Egdon.  Her  power  was  limited,  and  the  consciousness  of  this 
limitation  had  biassed  her  development.  Egdon  was  her  hades, 
and  since  coming  there  she  had  imbibed  much  of  what  was  dark  in 

3 

its  tone,  though  inwardly  and  externally  unreconciled  thereto." 

This  imperial  recluse  wa3  eager  for  gay  and  brilliant 
life  of  cities,  longing  to  escape  from  the  binding  influences  of 
the  lonely  heath.  "Thus  it  happened  that  in  Eustacia's  brain 
were  juxtaposed  the  strangest  assortment  of  ideas,  from  old  time 
and  from  new.  There  was  no  middle  distance  in  her  perspective: 
romantic  recollections  of  sunny  afternoons  on  an  esplanade,  with 
military  bands,  officers,  and  gallants  around,  stood  like  gilded 
letters  upon  the  dark  tablet  of  surrounding  Egdon.  Every  bizarre 
effect  that  could  result  from  the  random  intertwining  of  watering- 
place  glitter  with  the  grand  solemnity  of  a heath,  was  to  be  found 


1 Ibid.,  p.  67. 

3 Ibid . , p . 68 . 

3 Ibid . , p . 67 . 


. 


. 


* 


-33- 

in  her.  Seeing  nothing  of  human  life  now  she  imagined  all  the 
more  of  what  she  had  seen."^  "Among  other  things  opportunities 
had  of  late  years  been  denied  her  of  learning  to  be  undignified, 
for  she  lived  lonely.  Isolation  on  a heath  renders  vulgarity 
well-nigh  impossible.  It  would  have  been  as  easy  for  the  heath- 
ponies,  bats,  and  snakes  to  be  vulgar  as  for  her.  A narrow  life 
in  Budmouth  might  have  completely  demeaned  her."^  "To  be  loved 

to  madness — such  was  her  desire Her  prayer  was  always 

spontaneous  and  often  ran  thus:  0 deliver  my  heart  from  this 
fearful  gloom  and  loneliness;  send  me  great  love  from  somewhere, 
else  I shall  die."  Upon  this  stats  of  affairs  Mr.  Hardy  re- 
marks, "Such  views  of  life  were  to  some  extent  the  natural  be- 
gettings  of  her  situation  upon  her  nature.  To  dwell  on  a heath 
without  studying  its  meaning  was  like  welding  a foreigner  without 
learning  his  tongue.  The  subtle  beauties  of  the  heath  were  lost 
to  Eustacia;  she  only  caught  its  vapors.  An  environment  which 
would  have  made  a contented  woman  a poet,  a suffering  woman  a 

devotee,  a pious  woman  a palmist,  even  a giddy  woman  thoughtful, 

4 

made  a rebellious  woman  saturnine." 

So  it  was  that  Eustacia  openly  rebelled  against  her 


1 

Ibid . , 

P • 

68  . 

3 

Ibid . , 

P • 

CD 

CD 

3 

Ibid. , 

P • 

69. 

4 

Ibid . , 

P • 

70  . 

-34- 


life  among  the  wastes  of  Egdon  hills.  Fascinated,  by  her  dream 
of  a great  romantic  love,  this  lonely,  passionate  spirit  "filled 
up  the  spare  hours  of  her  existence  by  idealizing  Wildeve  for 
want  of  a better  object.  This  was  the  sole  reason  for  his  as- 
cendency; she  knew  it  herself.  At  moments  her  pride  rebelled 
against  her  passion  for  him,  and  she  even  had  longed  to  be  free. 
But  there  was  only  one  circumstance  which  could  dislodge  him,  and 
that  was  the  advent  of  a greater  man."'1'  Upon  one  occasion 
Wildeve  said  to  her,  "'You  hate  the  heath  as  much  as  ever;  that 
I know.'  'I  do,1  she  murmured  deeply.  'Tis  my  cross,  my  misery 
and  will  be  my  death*. '"  "Oh,  if  I could  live  in  a gay  town  as 
a lady  should  and  go  my  own  way  and  do  my  own  doings,  I'd  give 

•x 

the  wrinkled  half  of  my  life."  Wildeve  urged  her  to  leave  with 

him  but  he  was  not  sufficient  to  satisfy  her  craving  nature.  "I 

want  to  get  away  from  hexeat  almost  any  cost,"  she  said  with 

weariness,  "but  I don't  like  to  go  with  you."4 

Upon  the  arrival  of  Clym,  she  immediately  rejected  her 

old  lover  for  a man  "who  might  possibly  have  the  power  to  deliver 

5 

her  soul  from  a most  deadly  oppression,"  and  show  her  all  the 
gayety  of  cities.  Clym  himself  realized  "that  she  loved  him 


1 

2 

3 

4 


Ibid . , 

P • 

71  . 

Ibid . , 

P • 

85  . 

Ibid . , 

P • 

93  . 

Ibid., 

P • 

101 

Ibid . , 

P • 

132 

5 


• 

- 


. 


- (M  \\  I 


• ■ 


. 

. 


-35- 


rat  her  as  a visitant  from  a gay  world  to  which  she  rightly  be- 
longed than  as  a man  with  a purpose  opposed  to  that  recent  past."1 
Her  "dream  had  always  been  that,  once  married  to  Clym,  she  would 
have  the  power  of  inducing  him  to  return  to  Paris,"  but  he  re- 
mained firm  in  his  philanthropic  intentions  and  Eustacia  in  de- 
spair found  herself  outside  that  whirl  of  pleasure  of  her  dreams. 
Not  only  was  her  impatient  demand  for  life  unsatisfied,  but  Mrs. 
Yeobright  aligned  herself  with  the  unjust,  "colossal  Prince  of 

3 

the  World,  who  had  framed  her  situation  and  ruled  her  lot." 

When  Clym  not  only  refused  to  take  her  away  from  the  wilderness 

where  "the  world  seemed  all  wrong,"  but  denounced  her  as  his 

mother's  murderess,  and  unfaithful  to  him,  "her  state  seemed  so 

hopeless  that  she  co-old  play  with  it Eustacia  could  now 

observe  herself  as  a disinterested  spectator  and  think  what  a 

4 

sport  for  Heaven  this  woman  Eustacia  was."  And  ever  attentive 
and  distant  in  the  background  of  her  misery  was  the  "unchanging, 
immemorial  heath,  whose  grandeur  reduced  to  insignificance  by 
its  seamed  and  antique  features,  the  wildest  turmoil  of  a single 
man."'  Mocking  her  with  her  own  futility  and  powerlessness,  it 
is  not  surprising  that  the  heath  at  last  drove  her  tc  seek  that 


1 

Ibid . , 

P • 

203  . 

2 

Ibid . , 

P • 

242. 

3 

Ibid . , 

P • 

300  . 

4 

Ibid., 

P • 

344  . 

4 5 Ibid.,  p.  8. 


' 


. 


. 
■ 
' 


. . 


-36- 


"eternal  rigidity”  which  at  last  gave  to  her  beauty  "an  artistical- 
ly happy  background.”^ 

In  marked  contrast  to  the  heath's  effect  on  Eustacia 

was  its  effect  cn  Clym  Yeobright . He  was  indeed  the  product  of 

Egdon,  he  knew  and  loved  it  and  for  him  strength,  "friendliness 
3 

and  geniality”  were  written  in  the  face  of  the  shaggy  hills . 

"Clym  had  been  so  inwoven  with  the  heath  in  his  boyhood  that 

3 

hardly  anybody  could  look  upon  it  without  thinking  of  him." 

"He  was  permeated  with  its  scenes,  with  its  substance,  and  with 
its  odors.  His  eyes  had  first  opened  thereon;  with  its  appear- 
ance all  the  first  images  of  his  memory  were  mingled;  his  estimate 
of  life  had  been  colored  by  it;  his  toys  had  been  the  flint  knives 
and  arrow-heads  which  he  found  there,  wondering  why  stones  should 
'grow'  to  such  odd  shapes;  by  flowers,  the  purple  bells  and  yellow 
gorse;  his  animal  kingdom,  the  snakes  and  croppers;  his  society, 
its  human  haunters.  Take  all  the  varying  hates  felt  by  Eustacia 
Vye  toward  the  heath,  and  translate  them  into  loves,  and  you  have 
the  heart  of  Clym."4  It  was  for* him  the  place  where  he  could 

c 

"be  a trifle  less  useless  than  anywhere  else."  The  "untameable, 

0 

Ishmaelitish  thing  to  which  civilization  was  an  eternal  enemy" 


1 

Ibid . , 

P • 

361  . 

2 

Ibid . , 

P • 

107  . 

3 

Ibid . , 

P • 

170  . 

4 

Ibid . , 

PP 

. 176-176. 

5 

Ibid . , 

P • 

172. 

6 

Ibid . , 

P • 

6.  . 

V 


-37- 

only  inspired  him  to  do  some  worthy  thing — to  be  "a  schoolmaster 
to  the  poor  and  ignorant,  to  teach  them  what  nobody  else  would.”1 
The  oppressive  horizontality  of  the  heath  made  him  feel  equal 
with  and  not  superior  to  any  living  creature  under  the  sun.  He 
admired  and  wished  to  ennoble  the  stupid  laborers  whom  Eustacia 
hated.  In  the  furze  cutting  she  despised,  her  husband  saw  only 
"outdoor  exercise  which  will  do  me  good.”""  Even  in  the  sorrow 
that  came  partially  as  a result  of  Clym's  refusal  to  leave  the 
hills,  they  seemed  to  strengthen  and  soothe  him.  The  heath  ab- 
sorbed him  into  its  furze  and  he  became  an  indistinguishable  part 
of  Egdon.  Indeed,  in  the  end,  he  was  not  altogether  unhappy 
”in  the  career  of  an  itinerant  open  air  preacher  and  lecturer  on 
morally  unimpeachable  subjects."  Although  Eustacia  was  dead, 
Clyrn  had  his  memories — and  about  him  still  lay  the  hills  where  he 

A 

"would  rather  live  than  anywhere  else  in  the  world." 

If  Clym  Yeobright  was  the  child  of  Egdon,  Diggary  Venn, 
the  riddleman  was  its  spirit.  He  rose  unexpectedly  from  the 
heath  and  moved  silently  and  mysteriously  across  the  vast  abode 
of  gloom;  omnipresent  and  always  interested,  he  watched  over  the 
destinies  of  the  different  people  of  the  drama.  He  knew  the 
heath  and  constantly  used  it  in  his  battle  with  Wildeve.  When 


1 

Ibid . , 

P • 

177. 

2 

Ibid., 

P • 

253  . 

3 

Ibid . , 

P • 

412. 

4 

Ibid . , 

P • 

188  . 

. 


. 


- ' 


' 

. . 

• • 


-38- 

he  first  suspected  the  secret  meetings  of  Eustacia  and  Wildeve 
he  hid  on  Egdon  while  ’’near  him,  as  in  divers  places  about  the 
heath,  were  areas  strewn  with  large  turves,  which  lay  edgeways 
and  upside  down  awaiting  removal.  He  took  two  of  these  as  he 
lay  and  dragged  them  over  him  till  one  covered  his  head  and 
shoulders,  the  other  his  back  and  legs.""1 2'  When  he  thought  Wil- 
deve was  untrue  to  Thomasin  he  hurried  to  her.  "Stretching  out 
his  long  legs  he  crossed  the  pathless  portion  of  the  heath. 

Only  a man  accustomed  to  nocturnal  rambles  could  at  this  hour 
have  descended  those  shaggy  slopes  with  Venn’s  velocity  without 
falling  headlong  into  a pit  or  snapping  off  his  legs  by  jamming 

his  foot  into  some  rabb it -burrow . But  Venn  went  without  much 

2 

inconvenience  to  himself."  Again  he  made  use  of  the  heath  and 
its  products  when  he  obtained  the  money  from  Wildeve  on  Egdon  by 
means  of  light  of  its  glowworms. 

To  Thomasin  Yeobright  Egdon  was  no  cross  but  a broad, 
impersonal  setting.  She  had  been  born  on  the  heath,  reared  in 
association  with  its  hues  and  Egdon  was  the  scope  of  her  world. 
She  was  not  conscious  of  its  barrenness  and  its  dwarfing  powers. 
The  heath  produced  no  terrible  fears  in  her  soul  and  she  accepted 
it  with  a calm,  tacit  serenity  . 


1 Ibid . , p . 81 . 

2 Ibid.,  p . 268  . 


- 


, . 

' 


. 


' 


-39- 


The  effect  of  Egdon  upon  Damon  Wildeve  was  almost  as 
great  as  it  was  upon  Eustacia.  "He  was  brought  up  to  better 
things  than  keeping  the  Quiet  Woman.  An  engineer — that's  what 
the  man  was  as  we  know;  but  he  threw  away  his  chance,  and  so  'a 
took  a public-house  to  live.  His  learning  was  no  use  to  him  at 
all."1  He  longed  to  take  Eustacia  and  flee  from  the  crushing 
power  of  their  cruel  taskmaster.  Like  Eustacia  this  spirit  of 
unrest,  of  dissatisfaction  and  revolt  against  his  surroundings 
was  born  in  him,  "to  be  yearning  for  the  difficult,  to  be  weary 
of  that  offered;  to  care  for  the  remote,  to  dislike  the  near; 
it  was  Wildeve 's  nature  always.  This  is  the  true  mark  of  the 
man  of  sentiment.  Though  Wildeve's  fevered  feeling  had  not  been 
elaborated  to  real  poetical  compass,  it  was  of  the  standard  sort . 
He  might  have  been  called  the  Rousseau  of  Egdon . "~J 

Thus  The  Return  of  the  Native  is  a study  in  the  idea  of 
environment — environment  which  moulds  the  lives  of  the  people  who 
come  in  contact  with  it,  which  crushes  its  greatest  enemy,  civil- 
ization, with  its  austere,  celibate,  heedless  oppression.  It 
is  a tragedy  of  revolt  of  human  nature  against  indomitable  sur- 
roundings . Contrary  to  the  novels  of  the  first  period.  The 
Return  of  the  Native  shows  nature  antagonistic  to  the  persons 
who  refuse  to  be  moulded  by  its  power.  To  one  whose  love  was 
akin  to  the  cold,  passionless  sea,  the  clear,  perfect  stars,  the 


1 Ibid.,  p . 31 . 

3 Ibid.,  p.  317. 


: 

V 


. . . a 


-40- 


windy  sky,  Egdon  would  have  been  a paradise  on  earth,  an  ideal 
home,  and  a constant  inspiration.  But  to  Eustacia  who  sought  an 
outlet  for  the  smouldering  passionate  fires  of  her  soul,  it  was  a 
hell  of  mere  nothingness,  a solitude  filled  with  oppression  and 
restraint  . She  was  a dreamer  of  dreams  and  in  love  with  the 
imaginary  phantasms  of  a heroic  love.  In  direct  contrast  with 
her  ideals,  she  was  surrounded  by  the  miserable  wastes  of  Egdon, 
the  stupid  inhabitants,  the  maddening  unworldliness  of  the 
wilderness.  She  had  lived  in  Weymouth  in  her  childhood  days. 
"Just  as  that  respectable  place  was  to  her  a modern  Paris  and  an 
ancient  Rome,  so  Damon  Wilde ve  was  a very  prince  of  romance;  a 
trivial  fellow  of  decent  looks  and  a little  education.  Rejecting 
him  for  Clym  Yeobright,  she  takes  Clym  for  a born  leader  of  men, 
who  will  go  with  her  into  all  the  brilliance  of  all  the  world; 
she  finds  him  bent  upon  plain  living  and  high  thinking,  and  is 
in  despair,  desolate  and  famished,  outside  the  whirl  of  pleasures, 
triumphs,  joys.  Her  pitiful  standards  of  greatness,  pitiful 
ignorance  of  life,  pitiful  hunger  of  heart  not  wholly  vulgar  nor 
absurd,  yet  in  a large  measure  both,  make  her  a masterpiece."1 
It  cannot  be  said  that  her  character  is  explained  by  her  heredity 
and  circumstances ; on  the  contrary,  it  is  in  the  clash  between  her 
nature  and  her  surroundings  that  gives  her  personality  and  fate 
significance.  Damon  Wildeve,  a man  of  sharp  intellect,  refined 


1 Johnson,  Art  of  Thomas  Hardy,  p . 311 . 


. 

- - 


. 


-41- 


manners , strong  passions,  suffered  with  Eustacia  the  dwarfing 
destructive  wastes  of  Egdon . Clym,  Thomas in,  and  Venn  found 
beauty,  joy,  contentment  in  the  barren  heath.  Because  they 
were  willingly  immersed  into  its  purple  heather  and  moulded  by 
its  power  they  were  allowed  to  remain  among  its  shaggy  hills . 

On  the  other  hand,  Eustacia  and  Wildene,  the  only  two  who  rebelled 
against  the  heath,  were  the  only  two  who  met  death  through  its 
agency  . 

"In  The  Return  of  the  Native  Hardy  gives  not  only  the  life 
of  Egdon  Heath  at  a particular  point  of  time — between  1840  and 
1850;  he  shows  us  how  its  sombre  wildness  defies  the  revolutionary 
hand  of  man  and  reduces  all  his  efforts  to  its  own  unchangeable- 
ness. Eustacia' s passion  and  Wildene' s frivolity,  Clym  Yeobright?  \ 
high  aspirations  and  his  mother's  deep  affection,  Thomasin's  quiet 
faith  and  Diggary's  sturdy  devotion,  the  humbler  efforts  of  their 
simple  neighbors  come  to  an  end  and  disappear.  Egdon  Heath  re- 
mains, not  merely  the  same  as  when  Hardy  first  saw  it,  more  than 
a half  century  ago,  but  the  same  as  when,  in  the  far  back  ages, 
the  first  creature  worthy  of  the  name  of  man  clawed  its  grim 
bosom  in  search  of  plants  or  wild  berries."'1' 

In  1883  Mr.  Hardy  published  The  Mayor  of  Caster bridge 
which,  because  of  its  logical  development,  reserved  strength, 
remorseless  logic  and  artistic  restraint,  is  regarded  by  many 
admirers  as  the  author's  masterpiece.  It  is  in  name  and  in 


1 Cuncliffe,  Introduction  to  The  Return  of  the  Native,  p.  16. 


* 


. 


. . 


-42- 


fact  the  story  of  a man  of  character;  it  is  also  the  record  of 
his  hopeless  failure  and  defeat.  Michael  Henchard  the  man,  was 
a hay-trusser,  who  sold  his  wife  when  he  was  drunk.  After  real- 
izing what  he  had  done,  he  repented  and  reformed,  vowing  not  to 
touch  intoxicants  for  twenty  years.  By  great  energy  and  deter- 
mination he  accumulated  a small  fortune  and  became  the  Mayor  of 
Casterbridge,  a respected  and  respectable  man.  When  his  wife 
and  supposed  daughter  returned  he  found  love  and  peace.  But 
later  little  by  little  he  was  stripped  of  all  things  he  had 
labored  for  during  twenty  years.  Position,  money,  respect,  and 
love  soon  left  hirn  . He  sank  lower  and  lower,  until  more  miser- 
able than  he  had  ever  been  he  died  alone  in  a mud  hut  on  the 
border  of  Egdon  Heath . 

The  tragedy  of  Henchard' s life  is  not  found  in  the 
combination  of  external  forces  plotting  against  him  as  is  found 
in  The  Return  of  the  Native.  His  natural  environment  was  not 
his  fate,  as  Egdon  Heath  was  Eustacia  Vye’s.  His  character  was 
his  fate.  His  shrewd,  proud,  forceful,  stubborn,  passionate 
nature  dashed  itself  to  pieces  against  its  own  qualities.  Here 
Mr.  Hardy  shows  that  character  is  simply  one  of  the  numerous 
circumstances  in  an  individual's  environment;  it  is  of  such  a 
distinct  and  unique  nature  that  it  automatically  modifies  all  the 
other  circumstances;  it  changes  and  affects  them  in  a degree  and 
manner  peculiar  to  itself,  so  that  the  two  persons  whose  outward 
circumstances  are  exactly  similar  would  each  have  an  environment 
different  in  every  respect  from  that  of  the  other.  It  is  in 


. ’ v I I cBuft', , 

■ 


’ i . 


■ 


■ ’ J 


■ 


-43- 


this  sense  that  the  novelist  means  "Character  is  Fate"  as  he 
quotes  from  Novalis.  Character  alone  does  not  determine  a man's 
destiny,  but  it  profoundly  modifies  all  the  other  determining 
factors.  Henchard's  character  played  the  overmastering  part, 
softened  by  human  fraility  and  instability,  that  the  heath  did 
in  The  Return  of  the  Native.  He  was  made  by  nature  to  be  the 
dominant  feature  and  obstacle  in  his  own  and  his  associates' 
views  and  his  biographer  makes  clear  that  fact  . 

The  power  of  natural  environment  is  also  seen  in  several 
places  during  the  story.  In  the  description  of  Elizabeth-Jane 
early  in  the  story  Mr.  Hardy  says,  "She  possibly  might  never  be 
fully  handsome  unless  the  carking  accidents  of  her  daily  exis- 
tence could  be  evaded  before  the  mobile  parts  of  her  countenance 
had  settled  to  their  final  mould. 

"The  sight  of  the  girl  made  her  mother  sad — not  vaguely 
but  by  logical  inference.  They  both  were  still  in  that  strait- 
waistcoat  of  poverty  from  which  she  had  tried  so  many  times  to  be 
delivered  for  the  girl's  sake.  The  woman  had  long  perceived  how 
zealously  and  constantly  the  young  mind  of  her  companion  was 
struggling  for  enlargement,  and  yet  now  in  her  eighteenth  year, 
it  still  remained  but  little  unfolded.  The  desire — sober  and 
repressed — of  Elizabeth-Jane ' s heart  was  indeed  to  see,  to  hear, 
and  to  understand.  How  could  she  become  a woman  of  wider  know- 
ledge, higher  repute — "better",  as  she  termed  it — that  was  her 
constant  inquiry  of  her  mother.  She  sought  further  into  things 


than  other  girl3  in  her  position  ever  did,  and  her  mother  groaned 


-44- 


as  she  felt  she  could  not  aid  in  the  search.”1 * 3  When  Elizabeth- 
Jane  had  lived  a while  in  Henchard 's  home  her  environment  quickly 
affected  her  nature.  ”The  freedom  she  experienced,  the  indul- 
gence with  which  she  was  treated,  went  beyond  her  expectations. 

The  reposeful,  easy,  affluent  life  to  which  her  mother's  marriage 
had  introduced  her  was,  in  truth,  the  beginning  of  a great  change 

in  Elizabeth With  peace  of  mind  came  development,  and  with 

development  beauty Like  all  people  who  have  known  rough 

times,  light-heartedness  seemed  to  her  too  irrational  and  incon- 
sequent to  be  indulged  in  except  as  a reckless  dram  now  and  then; 
for  she  had  been  too  early  habituated  to  anxious  reasoning  to  drop 

o 

the  habit  suddenly.” 

Mr.  Hardy  also  shows  that  environment  affects  the  ac- 
tions and  nature  of  an  individual  . "Darkness  makes  people  truth- 
3 

ful.”  "The  exaggeration  which  darkness  imparted  to  the  glooms 
of  this  region  impressed  Henchard  more  than  he  had  expected.  The 
lugubrious  harmony  of  the  spot  with  his  domestic  situation  was  too 
perfect  for  him,  impatient  of  effects,  scenes,  and  adumbrations. 

It  reduced  his  heart  burning  to  melancholy  and  he  exclaimed,  'Fny 
the  deuce  did  I come  here'.'”4  Again  the  novelist  shows  the  power 
of  external  forces  over  Henchard.  "If  he  could  have  summoned 


1 The  Mayor  of  Casterbridge . p.  89. 

3 Ibid.,  pp . 103-104. 


3 Ibid.,  p . 131 . 

4 Ibid . , p . 153 . 


- 


. 


-45- 


music  to  his  aid,  his  existence  might  even  now  have  been  borne; 
for  with  Henchard  music  was  of  regal  power.  The  merest  trumpet 
or  organ  tone  was  enough  to  move  him,  and  high  harmonies  transub- 
stantiated him.  But  fate  had  ordained  that  he  should  be  unable 

1 

to  call  up  this  Divine  spirit  in  his  need." 

Thus  in  The  Mayor  of  Casterbridge  the  power  of  natural 
environment  over  the  character  of  Henchard  and  Elizabeth-Jane  is 
only  incidentally  seen.  The  processes  of  nature,  which  are  so 
distinctly  and  vividly,  and  with  such  obvious  symbolic  meaning 
immersed  into  the  substance  of  Far  From  the  Madding  Crowd  and 
The  Return  of  the  Native,  are  barely  present  in  The  Mayor  of 
Caaterbr idge  . They  are  not  needed — Henchard  himself  takes  their 

place.  He  "provides  the  two  main  elements  which  combine  to  pro- 
duce tragedy.  In  the  rest  of  Hardy's  fiction,  these  tragic 
elements  are  on  the  whole,  separately  provided,  by  personality 
and  by  the  circumstances  which  have  hold  of  personality.  But 
the  elemental  antinomy,  which  is  the  basis  of  Hardy's  tragedy  is 
entirely  Henchard 's  own;  the  antinomy  of  the  ruthless  driving 
forward  of  the  main  unappointed  force  of  being,  against  the  vital- 
ity which  has  become  formulated  into  an  organism  of  conscious 
desire.  Henchard '3  conscious  aspirations  are  undone  by  the 
impetuous  stream  of  unconscious  vigor  which  his  own  being  provides 


1 Ibid.,  p.  358. 


. 


. 


-46- 


and  fatally  provides.  So  he  himself  appears  as  the  symbolic 
counterpart  of  the  whole  tragic  substance  of  the  other  dramatic 
novels.  There,  that  substance  is  chiefly  compounded  of  inner 
and  outer  forces;  though  certainly  the  outer  impersonal  force 
has  always  a strong  alliance  in  that  impersonal  region  which  sur- 
rounds the  consciousness  of  every  human  creature,  and  yet  is 
included  in  individual  existence.  But  in  Henchard,  human  natureb 
dualism  of  personal  and  impersonal  force  is  so  intensified  that 
his  whole  circumstance,  as  far  as  it  is  injurious  to  him,  seems 
but  the  objectification  of  his  own  self  injuring  nature. 1,1  In- 
stead of  natural  environment  conspiring  to  bring  a helpless  in- 
dividual to  destruction,  the  story  shows  character,  one  of  the 
circumstances  of  man's  environment,  dashing  itself  to  pieces 
against  its  own  qualities.  To  the  quotation  in  King  Lear . 

"As  flies  to  wanton  boys,  are  we  to  the  gods, 

They  kill  us  off  for  their  sport — " 

the  defeated  Henchard  would  have  replied  from  the  same  tragedy 

"The  gods  are  just,  and  of  our  pleasant  vices 
Make  instruments  to  plague  us." 

The  Woodlandera.  published  in  1887,  is  in  many  respects 
similar  to  The  Return  of  the  Native,  and  one  is  tempted  to  believe 
that  its  conception  if  not  its  composition  preceded  The  Mayor  of 
Caster bridge  ♦ The  story  is  built  around  the  devotion  of  Marty 


1 Abercrombie,  Thomas  Hardy . pp . 135-126. 


. 

. 


. 


<■  ;e  !«*■«.:.  I 


-47- 


South  for  Giles  Winterborne,  two  products  of  the  soil,  and  Giles' 
devotion  to  Grace  Melbury,  a girl  above  her  surroundings,  who  is 
wooed  and  won  by  a doctor,  Edred  Fitzpiers,  and  he  in  turn  is 
wiled  away  by  a wealthy  widow,  Felice  Charmond.  After  the  death 
of  Winterborne  and  the  falling  off  of  the  charm  of  Felice,  Grace 
and  Fitzpiers  re-woo  and  the  story  ends  happily. 

As  the  heath  was  the  background  and  moulded  the  char- 
acters in  The  Return  of  the  Native,  so  the  woodland  in  The  V'ood- 
lander3  occupies  the  same  place;  though  its  dominance  is  more 
kindly  than  the  heath,  it  is  scarcely  less  masterful.  The 
peasants  are  permeated  by  the  subtle  influence  of  the  surrounding 
woods  . 

Marty  South  can  be  compared  readily  with  Thomas  in 
Yeobright.  She  was  born  in  the  woodlands  and  from  constant 
association  with  nature  had  a delicate  apprehension  of  it.  She 
noticed  that  the  young  pines  began  to  sigh  as  soon  as  they  were 
held  upright:  "they  sigh  because  they  are  very  sorry  to  begin  life 
in  earnest."1  She  was  ignorant  and  uncouth,  reared  in  poverty, 
and  her  "face  had  the  usual  fulness  of  expression  which  is  devel- 
oped  by  a life  of  solitude."  Her  environment  had  placed  sorrow 
and  bitter  hard  work  upon  her,  but  the  sweetness  of  her  character 
and  the  iron  endurance  of  her  spirit  were  not  crushed  by  such 


1 The  Woodlanders  . p . 64  . 
3 Ibid  . , p . 9 . 


. 


. 


' 


' 


. 


• • 


-48- 

things  . She  knew  that  pain  would,  be  the  result  of  suoh  a love 
as  hers,  yet  she  never  tried  to  escape  it;  whatever  came  or  went, 
her  unchangeable  love  was  her  own.  The  tragedy  is  much  more 
subdued  than  in  The  Return  of  the  Native,  but  the  book  ends  with 
the  keenest  pathos  and  sweetest  sorrow  in  Marty's  lament  over 
Giles'  grave:  "If  ever  I forget  your  name,  I never  can  forget 
'ee;  for  you  was  a good  man,  and  did  good  things  I"'1'  She  is  by 
far  the  greatest  and  noblest  example  of  simple-natured  womanhood 
found  in  Mr.  Hardy's  pages. 

Marty  South's  father  shows  strongly  the  effect  of  en- 
vironment upon  him.  His  life  was  strongly  linked  to  the  life  of 
the  woodland  tree . He  exclaimed,  "And  the  tree  will  do  it — that 
tree  will  soon  be  the  death  of  me."^  "I  could  bear  up,  I know 
I could,  if  it  were  not  for  the  tree — yes,  the  tree;  'tis  that's 
killing  me;  there  he  stands,  threatening  my  life  every  minute 
that  the  wind  do  blow.  He'll  come  down  upon  us  and  squat  us 
dead."^  "Ah,  when  it  was  quite  a small  tree,  and  I was  a little 
boy,  I thought  one  day  of  chopping  it  off  with  my  hook  to  make  a 
clothes-line  prop  with.  But  I put  off  doing  it  and  then  I again 
thought  that  I would;  but  I forgot  it,  and  didn't.  At  last  it 
got  too  big  and  now  'tis  my  enemy,  and  ?/ill  be  the  death  of  me. 


1 

Ibid . , 

P • 

364  . 

2 

Ibid . , 

P • 

13  . 

3 

Ibid . , 

P • 

91  . 

-49- 

Little  did  I think,  when  I let  that  sapling  stay,  that  a time 
would  come  when  it  would  torment  me  and  dash  me  into  my  grave.  "x 
The  doctor  ordered  the  tree  cut  down,  and  when  South  noted  its 
absence  he  exclaimed,  "Oh,  it  is  gone! — where? — where? " 

"His  whole  system  seemed  paralized  with  amazement  . He  lingered 

2 

through  the  day  and  died  that  evening  as  the  sun  went  down . " 

There  is  a similarity  in  the  characters  of  Giles  Winter- 
borne  and  Diggory  Venn  just  as  there  is  in  Thomasin  and  Marty. 

Venn  was  the  spirit  of  Egdon  Heath  and  Winterborne  was  the  spirit 
of  the  woodland.  He  moved  silently  through  the  groves,  half 
disappearing  among  the  swaying  tree-stems,  half -undist inguishable 
from  the  movement  and  sound  of  rustling  leaves  and  the  weird  in- 
terweaving of  the  shadows . He  loved  Grace,  who  was  above  him 
intellectually  and  socially,  with  a pure,  passionate  love.  He 
was  so  steadfast  in  love  that  his  personal  disappointment  could 
not  be  compared  with  the  welfare  of  Grace.  He  readily  and 
gladly  exposed  himself,  which  brought  on  his  death,  in  order  to 
save  bis  beloved's  reputation. 

Grace  Melbury,  the  heroine,  like  Clyrn  Yeobright  had  been 
raised  above  her  surroundings  by  education  and  social  advantages 
in  a distant  city;  like  him  this  implicated  her  in  tragedy;  like 


1 Ibid . , p . 93 . 

3 Ibid.,  p.  104, 


. 


-50- 


him  she  became  subdued  again  to  her  native  environment;  unlike 
him,  in  the  closing  chapters  of  the  book  she  turned  back  to  the 
outer  world. 

When  she  returned  from  the  city  to  her  home  her  father 
feared  the  influence  which  the  surrounding  woods  would  exert  on 
her.  "We,  living  here  alone,  don’t  notice  how  the  whit ey -brown 
creeps  out  of  the  earth  over  us;  but  she,  fresh  from  the  city — 
why,  she'll  notice  everything."*  He  realized  that  the  whitey- 
brown  did  creep  over  him  and  not  only  over  his  clothes  and  skin, 
but  into  his  mind  and  spirit.  He  noticed  that  as  she  stood  be- 
side him  "her  modern  attire  looked  almost  odd  where  everything 
else  was  old-fashioned,  and  throwing  over  the  familiar  garniture 
of  the  trees  a homeliness  that  seemed  to  demand  improvement  by 
the  addition  of  a few  contemporary  novelties  also."*  Again  he 
said,  "I  know  Grace  will  gradually  sink  down  to  our  level  again, 
and  catch  our  manners  and  way  of  speaking,  and  feel  a drowsy  con- 
tent in  being  Giles'  wife.  But  I can't  bear  the  thought  of 
dragging  down  to  that  old  level  as  promising  a piece  of  maidenhood 
as  ever  lived — fit  to  ornament  a palace  wi ' — that  I've  taken  so 
much  trouble  to  lift  up.  Fancy  her  white  hands  getting  redder 
every  day  and  her  tongue  losing  its  pretty  up-country  curl  in 
talking,  and  her  bounding  walk  becoming  the  regular  Hintock  shail 


1 Ibid . , p . 33  . 
3 Ibid.,  p.  54. 


I 

St.  ■ 

: 


- 


' 


...  . 


-Bl- 
and wamble. "x  In  spite  of  her  father's  efforts  she  wa3  subdued 
by  her  native  environment  . It  was  by  means  of  Fitzpiers  that 
she  finally  got  back  to  the  outer  world. 

Felice  Charmond  is  less  elaborately  drawn  than  Eustacia 
Vye,  less  romantic,  more  hardened,  more  worldly,  and  even  more 
misplaced  in  the  forest  than  was  Eustacia  on  the  heath.  Social 
conventions  as  well  as  the  woodlands  asserted  themselves  against 
her.  She  was  a selfish,  self -pity ing  woman  who  became  "dread- 
fully  nervous  sometimes,  living  in  such  an  outlandish  place."*"' 
"Hintock  has  the  curious  effect  of  bottling  up  the  emotions  'till 
one  can  no  longer  hold  them;  I am  often  obliged  to  fly  away  and 
discharge  my  sentiments  somewhere,  or  I should  die  outright. 

She  complained  against  the  "terrible  insistencies  of  society" 
and  the  "correctives  and  regulations  pretendedly  framed  that 
society  may  tend  to  perfection"  and  asserted  "the  misery  of  coun- 
try life  is  that  your  neighbors  have  no  toleration  for  difference 
of  opinion  and  habit.  My  neighbors  think  I am  an  atheist,  except 

those  who  think  I am  a Roman  Catholic; and  when  I speak  disrespect- 

4 

fully  of  the  weather  or  the  crops  they  think  I am  a blasphemer." 

The  natural  environment  affected  Fitzpier's  life  in  a 


1 

Ibid . , 

P • 

CO 

o 

2 

Ibid . , 

P • 

rH 

CD 

3 

Ibid . , 

P • 

189  . 

4 

Ibid . , 

P • 

189. 

•52- 


similar  manner.  On  one  occasion  he  said,  "'Gammer  Oliver,  I've 
been  here  three  months  and  although  there  are  a good  many  people 
in  the  Hintocks  and  the  villages  round,  and  a scattered  practice 
is  often  a very  good  one,  I don't  seem  to  get  many  patients. 

And  there's  no  society  at  all;  and  I'm  pretty  near  melancholy 

mad I should  be  quite  if  it  were  not  for  my  books,  and  my 

lab — laboratory,  and  what  not.  Gammer,  I was  made  for  higher 
things.'"1 2  "But  whether  he  meditated  the  Muses  or  the  philo- 
sophers, the  loneliness  of  Hintock  life  was  beginning  to  tell  upon 
his  impressionable  nature.  Winter  in  a solitary  house  in  the 
country,  without  society,  is  tolerable,  nay,  even  enjoyable  and 
delightful,  given  certain  conditions,  but  these  are  not  the  con- 
ditions which  attain  to  the  life  of  a professional  man  who  drops 

2 

down  into  such  a place  by  mere  accident." 

Thus  The  Woodlanders  is  full  of  a profound  penetration 
of  humanity  by  nature — nature  which  is  objective  and  moulds  char- 
acters. The  lives  of  Giles  Wint erborne  and  Marty  South  are 
willingly  immersed  in  the  common  life  of  the  earth.  Marty's 
father's  life  was  strangely  joined  to  the  life  of  the  woodland  tree 
which  he  constantly  feared,  but  he  was  not  able  to  survive  it. 
Grace  Melbury,  educated  above  her  surroundings,  and  in  spite  of 
her  father's  efforts  and  worries,  came  under  the  woodland's 


1 Ibid  . , p . 43 . 

2 Ibid  . , p . 123 . 


. 

' 


* 


* 


I 


-53- 


influence  again.  Felice  Charmond  and  Edred  Fitzpiers  uselessly 
rebelled  against  social  conventions  as  well  as  their  natural 
environment.  As  the  heath  was  victorious  in  The  Return  of  the 
Native . so  the  woodland  is  victorious  in  The  Woodlanders . 

In  summing  up  the  ideas  of  environment  in  the  three 
novels  of  this  period  we  see  in  The  Return  of  the  Native  and  in 
The  Woodlanders  exactly  the  same  aspect . Both,  novels  are  per- 
meated and  dominated  by  a natural  environment — an  active  personal 
force  which  moulds  characters  and  forms  destinies.  The  people 
who  revolt  against  their  environment  are  shaped  just  as  strongly 
as  the  persons  who  readily  accept  it  . Environment  is  always  the 
conqueror  in  the  struggle  for  supremacy.  In  The  Mayor  of  Cast er- 
bridge  nature  plays  a minor  part  in  the  story  compared  with  the 
other  novels  of  this  period.  Character  becomes  one  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  environment,  and  instead  of  a natural  surrounding 
antagonistic  to  the  individual,  character  becomes  antagonistic, 
and  the  whole  tragedy  is  but  the  objectification  of  the  Mayor's 
own  self-injuring  nature.  On  the  whole  we  may  3ay  the  idea  of 
environment  in  the  novels  of  this  period  is  a personal,  sensuous 
surrounding,  antagonistic  to  man,  conspiring  to  bring  a helpless 
humanity  to  destruction. 


• - • * Wf 


: . 

. 


I 


' v i : v:  . f ;a 

. 


■ 


-54- 


CHAPTER  III. 

NOVELS  FROM  1891-1898. 

Teas  of  the  D 1 Urbervilles , probably  the  most  widely  read 
of  all  of  Thomas  Hardy’s  books,  was  published  in  1891.  The 
author  follows  in  the  footsteps  of  various  Victorian  novelists, 
who  have  shown  a calamity  as  old  as  human  nature,  yet  the  novel 
is  told  with  almost  unequalled  tender  and  sympathetic  sincerity. 

In  this  story  of  "a  pure  woman  faithfully  presented”  Mr.  Hardy 
”is  obsessed  by  the  idea  that  all  Nature  is  conspiring  to  bring 
helpless”  Tess  to  degradation  and  shame. 

The  natural  surroundings  in  which  Tess  was  born  and 
reared  made  the  catastrophe  of  her  life  not  only  possible  but 
inevitable.  In  the  account  of  the  Durbeyfield  family  the  author 
says:  "All  these  young  souls  were  passengers  in  the  Durbeyfield 
ship — entirely  dependent  on  the  judgments  of  the  two  Durbeyfield 
adults  for  their  pleasures,  their  necessities,  their  health,  even 
their  existence.  If  the  heads  of  the  Durbeyfield  household 
chose  to  sail  into  difficulty,  disaster,  starvation,  disease, 
degradation,  death,  thither  were  these  half-dozen  little  captives 
under  hatches  compelled  to  sail  with  them — six  helpless  creatures, 
who  had  never  been  asked  if  they  wished  for  life  on  any  terms, 
much  less  if  they  wished  for  it  on  such  hard  conditions  as  were 
involved  in  being  of  the  shiftless  house  of  Durbeyfield.  Some 


■ 


. 


. 


■ 


-55- 


people  would  like  to  know  whence  the  poet  whose  philosophy  is  in 
these  days  deemed  as  profound  ancl  trustworthy  as  his  song  is 
sweet  and  pure,  gets  his  authority  for  speaking  of  'Nature's 
holy  plan  . ' 1,1 

Because  of  the  wretchedness  of  her  home  environment 
Tess  went  to  the  D'Urberville  estate  hoping  there  to  rise  above 
the  restricting  circumstances  of  her  youth.  But  nature  had 
planned  differently.  She  met  Alec  D'Urberville  and  in  her  as- 
sociation with  him  "she  was  more  pliable  under  his  hand  than  a 
mere  companionship  would  have  made  her,  owing  to  her  inevitable 

dependence  upon  his  mother,  and,  through  her  comparative  help- 

3 

lessness,  upon  him."  Through  the  conspiracy  of  nature  Tess 
was  brought  unheeding  to  The  Chase.  "She  was  silent,  and  the 
horse  ambled  along  for  a considerable  distance,  till  a faint 
luminous  fog,  which  had  hung  in  the  hollow  all  the  evening,  became 
general  and  enveloped  them.  It  seemed  to  hold  the  moonlight  in 
suspension,  rendering  it  more  pervasive  than  in  clear  air.  Wheth- 
er on  this  account,  or  from  absent-mindedness,  or  from  sleepiness, 
she  did  not  perceive  that  they  had  long  ago  passed  the  point  at 
which  the  lane  to  Trantridge  branched  from  the  highway,  and  that 

3 

her  conductor  had  not  taken  the  Trantridge  track." 

" As  Tess  lay  asleep  in  The  Chase  darkness  and  silence 


1 Tess  of  the  D 'Urbervilles ♦ p . 31 . 

3 Ibid.,  p.  65. 

3 Ibid.,  p.  75. 


■ 


■ 


. 


. 


• . 


-56- 


ruled  everywhere  around.  Above  them  rose  the  primeval  yews  and 
oaks  of  The  Chase,  in  which  were  poised  gentle  roosting  birds  in 
their  last  nap;  and  around  them  the  hopping  rabbits  and  hares. 

But  where  was  Tess 1 guardian  angel?  Where  was  the  Providence 
of  her  simple  faith?  Perhaps,  like  that  other  god  of  whom 
the  ironical  Tishbite  spoke,  he  was  talking,  or  he  was  pursuing, 
or  he  was  on  a journey,  or  peradventure  he  was  sleeping  and  was 
not  to  be  awaked."'1'  While  her  guardian  angel  was  away  all 
nature  urged  her  on  to  the  fulfillment  of  its  own  tendencies,  ir- 
respective of  the  disaster  which  consequently  befell  her.  The 
novelist  asks,  "Why  did  this  blind  power  assert  itself  against 
an  innocent,  helpless  individual?"  "Why  it  was  that  upon  this 
beautiful  feminine  tissue,  sensitive  as  gossamer,  and  practically 
blank  as  snow  as  yet,  there  should  have  been  traced  such  a coarse 
pattern  as  it  was  doomed  to  receive;  why  so  often  the  coarse 
appropriates  the  finer  thus,  many  thousand  years  of  analytical 
philosophy  have  failed  to  explain  to  our  sense  of  order . One 
may,  indeed,  admit  the  possibility  of  a retribution  lurking  in 
the  catastrophe.  Doubtless  some  of  Tess  D ’Urberville 1 s mailed 
ancestors  rollicking  home  from  a fray  had  dealt  the  same  wrong 
even  more  ruthlessly  upon  peasant  girls  of  their  time.  But 
though  to  visit  the  sins  of  the  fathers  upon  the  children  may  be 
a morality  good  enough  for  divinities,  it  is  scorned  by  average 


1 Ibid .,  p . 80  . 


. 

JB 


. 


* 


. 


■ 


■ ■ 1 


-57- 


human  nature;  and  it  therefore  does  not  mend  the  matter."1 
Thus  Teas,  with  a dreadful  stain  upon  her  soul,  wandered  back  to 
her  old  home.  Fate  had  played  into  Alec's  hand,  and  she  tried 
to  explain  the  dark  deed  by  placing  a strong  charge  against  her 
home  environment  and  her  mother's  neglect  to  warn  her  before  she 
left,  of  the  dangers  lurking  along  life's  pathway  . '"0  mother, 

my  mother  I1"  cried  the  agonized  girl,  turning  passionately  upon 
her  parent  as  if  her  poor  heart  would  break.  'How  could  I be 
expected  to  know?  I was  a child  when  I left  this  house  four 
months  ago.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  there  was  danger  in  men-folk? 
Why  didn't  you  warn  me?  Ladies  know  what  to  fend  hands  against, 
because  they  read  novels  that  tell  them  of  these  tricks;  but  I 
never  had  the  chance  o'  learning  in  that  way,  and  you  did  not 
help  me'.'"2 3  To  this  query  the  mother  replied,  "'Well,  we  must 
make  the  best  of  it,  I suppose.  Tis  nater,  after  all,  and  what 
do  please  God.'"  This  reply  seems  to  be  the  author's  solution 
of  the  problem  also. 

As  Tess  stood  among  the  voices  of  the  woodland  she 
thought  she  heard  them  whisper  shame  and  condemnation  upon  her. 
"Walking  among  the  sleeping  birds  in  the  hedges,  watching  the 
skipping  rabbits  on  a moonlit  warren,  or  standing  under  a pheas- 
ant-laden bough  she  looked  upon  herself  as  a figure  of  Guilt 


1 Ibid  . , p . 80  . 

2 Ibid.,  p.  80. 

3 Ibid . , p . 90  . 


. 


• S «i 

. 


[1 


. 


' 

. . . 

. . . ' ■ 


:: 


■ 


-58- 


intruding  into  the  haunts  of  Innocence  . But  all  the  while  3he 
was  making  a distinction  where  there  was  no  difference.  Feeling 
herself  in  antagonism,  she  was  quite  in  accord.  She  had  been 
made  to  break  an  accepted  social  law,  but  no  law  known  to  the 
environment  in  which  she  fancied  herself  such  an  anomaly. 

When  her  baby  died  the  novelist  remarks,  "So  passed 
away  Sorrow — the  Undesired — that  intrusive  creature,  that  bastard 

o 

gift  of  shameless  Nature  who  respects  not  the  civil  law."  Here 
Mr.  Hardy  begins  his  war  against  the  environment  of  social  con- 
ventions. He  asserts  that  "what  had  bowed  her  head  so  profoundly 
was  the  thought  of  the  world's  concern  at  her  situation."^  He 

remarks  that  "alone  in  a desert  island  she  would  not  have  been 

4 

wretched  at  what  had  happened  to  her."  "Most  of  the  misery  had 

been  generated  by  her  conventional  aspect,  and  not  by  her  innate 
5 

sensations."  "But  for  the  world's  opinion  those  experiences 

g 

would  have  been  simply  a liberal  education."  Here  indeed  the 
novelist  shows  a possible  compensation.  To  have  learnt  some- 
thing more  of  the  deep  meaning,  the  evil  secrets,  of  life — even 
though  it  be  the  darker  meaning,  the  evil  secrets — is  worth  almost 


1 

Ibid . , 

P • 

CD 

2 

Ibid., 

P • 

106  . 

3 

Ibid . , 

P • 

100. 

4 

Ibid . , 

P • 

101  . 

5 

Ibid . , 

P • 

101. 

6 

Ibid . , 

P • 

110  . 

any  sacrifice.  Thus  he  asks,  "Was  once  lost  always  lost  really 

true  of  chastity?"1  And  as  social  conventions  and  all  Nature 

with  one  accord  exclaim,  "Yes  alas'."  Mr.  Hardy  answers  cogently 

enough,  "The  recuperative  power  which  pervaded  organic  nature 

2 

was  surely  not  denied  to  maidenhood  alone."  He  shows  this  power 

beginning  to  make  itself  felt  in  Tess,  unexpected  youth,  surging 

up  anew  after  its  temporary  check,  and  bringing  with  it  hope, 

3 

and  the  invincible  instinct  towards  self  delight." 

Thus  Tess  with  all  the  hopes  and  ambitions  of  youth, 
raised  herself  against  the  hindrances  nature  had  placed  upon  her 
and  once  more  went  forth  to  seek  her  livelihood.  In  her  new 
abode  at  the  dairy  farm,  nature  at  first  seemed  to  smile  pleasant- 
ly upon  her;  "either  the  change  in  the  quality  of  the  air  from 
heavy  to  light,  or  the  sense  of  being  amid  new  scenes  where  there 
were  no  invidious  eyes  upon  her,  sent  up  her  spirits  wonderfully . 
Her  hopes  mingled  with  the  sunshine  in  an  ideal  photosphere  which 
surrounded  her  as  she  bounded  along  against  the  soft  south  wind. 
She  heard  a pleasant  voice  in  every  breeze,  and  in  every  bird's 
note  seemed  to  lurk  with  a joy."4  The  irresistible,  universal, 
automatic  tendency  to  find  enjoyment,  which  pervades  all  life, 


1 

Ibid . , 

P • 

110. 

3 

Ibid . , 

P • 

110. 

3 

Ibid . , 

P • 

114  . 

4 

Ibid . , 

P • 

114. 

-60- 

f rom  the  meanest  to  the  highest,  had  at  length  mastered  her,  no 
longer  counteracted  by  external  pressures  . Being  even  now  only 
a young  and  immature  woman,  one  who  mentally  and  sentimentally 
had  not  finished  growing,  it  was  impossible  that  any  event  should 
have  left  upon  Tess  an  impression  that  was  not  at  least  capable 
of  transmutation . 1,1  Here  she  met  Angel  Clare.  When  he  ob- 
served Tess  he  exclaimed,  "What  a fresh  and  virgin  daughter  of 

2 

Nature  that  milk -maid  is'.  "*'J  Tess  was  always  conscious  of  the 
power  of  nature.  One  time  during  their  courtship  she  said  to 
Angel,  "The  trees  have  inquisitive  eyes,  haven't  they? — that  is, 
seem  as  if  they  have.  And  the  river  says,  'Why  do  ye  trouble 
me  with  your  looks?'  And  you  seem  to  see  numbers  of  tomorrows 
just  all  in  a line,  the  first  of  'em  biggest  and  clearest,  the 
others  getting  smaller  and  smaller  as  they  stand  farther  away  but 
they  all  seem  very  fierce  and  cruel  and  as  if  they  3aid  'I'm 

coming.  Beware  o'  me  i Beware  o'  me'.' 'But  you,  sir — you;' 

she  exclaimed,  with  almost  bitter  envy;  'you  can  raise  up  dreams 
with  your  music  and  drive  all  such  horrid  fancies  away'.’""  In 
the  happiness  of  dairy  life,  time  moved  rapidly  on  and  "July 
passed  over  their  heads,  and  the  Thermidosean  weather  which  came 
in  its  wake  seemed  an  effort  on  the  part  of  Nature  to  match  the 


1 

Ibid . , 

P • 

115  . 

2 

Ibid . , 

P • 

135  . 

3 

Ibid . , 

P • 

139. 

-61- 


state  of  hearts  at  Talbothays  Dairy.  The  air  of  the  place,  so 
fresh  in  the  spring  and  early  summer,  was  stagnant  and  enervating 
now.  Its  heavy  scents  weighed  upon  them,  and  at  midday  the  land- 
scape seemed  lying  in  a swoon.  Ethiopia  scorchings  browned  the 
upper  slopes  of  the  pastures,  but  there  was  still  bright  green 
herbage  here  where  the  water-courses  purled.  And  as  Glare  was 
oppressed  by  the  outward  heats,  so  was  he  burdened  inwardly  by  a 
waxing  fervor  of  passion  for  the  soft  and  silent  Tess."l  Tess 
also  loved  Angel  but  she  felt  her  past  would  always  keep  them 
apart.  Little  by  little  nature  asserted  itself  and  made  her 
unable  to  resist  him.  "In  reality  she  was  drifting  in  acquies- 
cence. Every  see-saw  of  her  breath,  every  wave  of  her  blood, 
every  pulse  singing  in  her  ears,  was  a voice  that  joined  with 
Nature  in  revolt  against  her  scrupulousness.  Reckless,  incon- 
siderate acceptance  of  him;  to  close  with  him  at  the  altar,  re- 
vealing nothing,  and  chancing  discovery  at  that  first  act  in  her 
drama;  to  snatch  ripe  pleasure  before  the  iron  teeth  of  pain  could 
have  time  to  shut  upon  her;  that  was  what  love  counselled;  and  in 
almost  a terror  of  ecstacy  Tess  confusedly  divined  that,  despite 
the  many  months  of  lonely  self -chastisement , wrestlings,  com- 
munings,  schemes  to  lead  a future  of  austere  isolation,  love's 
counsel  would  prevail.  After  they  became  engaged  Tess  made  a 


1 Ibid . , p . 164 . 


. 

. 

' 


« 

■1 


• ■ 


-63- 


brave  effort  to  tell  Angel  of  her  past.  She  wrote  a letter  and 
slipped  it  under  his  door  but  circumstances  planned  that  he  should 
not  know  her  past  until  it  was  too  late,  and  consequently  the 
letter  went  under  the  rug  and  Angel  failed  to  see  it . 

Just  as  they  started  on  their  small  bridal  trip,  nature 
gave  a hint  of  the  fate  she  had  planned  for  this  helpless  in- 
dividual. A cock  crew.  " 1 2 3 1 don't  like  to  hear  him'.1  said  Tess 
to  her  husband.  'Tell  the  man  to  drive  on.’”1  In  the  old 
D'Urberville  mansion  Tess  told  the  sin  of  her  past  episode  with 
Alec  D'Urberville.  He  was  amazed,  dumbfounded.  "The  night 
came  in,  and  took  up  its  place  there;  unconcerned  and  indifferent; 
the  night  which  had  already  swallowed  up  his  hapijiness,  and  was 
now  digesting  it  listlessly;  and  was  ready  to  swallow  up  the 
happiness  of  a thousand  other  people  with  as  little  disturbance 
or  change  of  mien.”  As  they  sat  before  the  fire  "Tess  looked 
absolutely  pure.  Nature  in  her  fantastic  trickery  had  set  such 
a seal  of  girlishness  upon  Tess's  countenance  that  he  gazed  at 
her  with  a stupefied  air.  Through  the  slyness  of  Dame  Nature, 
Tess  had  been  hoodwinked  by  her  love  for  Clare  into  forgetting 
that  it  might  result  in  vitalizat ions  that  would  inflict  upon 

X 

others  what  she  had  bewailed  as  a misfortune  to  herself.”  Thus 


1 Ibid . , p . 245  . 

2 Ibid . , p . 268  . 

3 Ibid  . , p . 278  . 


' 

. 


1 

s 


. 


. 


-63- 

Clare,  himself  no  more  virgin  than  Te3s  and  in  temperament  lewd 
where  she  was  chaste,  left  her.  Mr.  Hardy  here  remarks,  "When 
two  people  are  once  parted — have  abandoned  a common  domicile  and 
a common  environment — new  growths  insensibly  bud  upward  to  fill 
each  vacated  place;  unforeseen  accidents  hinder  intentions,  and 
old  plans  are  forgotten."1  Later,  after  a brave  fight  against 
poverty  and  other  evils  of  her  surroundings,  Tess  was  forced  by 
the  needs  of  her  family,  into  the  protection  of  Alec  D 'Urberville . 
Angel  returned  to  her,  and  in  order  to  be  free  to  join  her  hus- 
band, Tess  murdered  her  protector.  After  a brief,  happy  con- 
cealment with  Clare  in  an  empty  house  in  the  New  Forest,  she  wa3 
arrested,  tried  and  hanged. 

Tess  of  the  D 1 Urbervilles  is  the  story  of  a lonely 
nature  tortured  by  the  action  of  natural  circumstances.  "The 
gist  of  the  story  is  the  study  of  a woman  with  a passion  for 
purity  placed  amid  circumstances  which  compelled  the  defilement 
of  her  body  and  the  starving  of  her  spirit.  True  she  was  weak 
in  everything  but  her  power  of  loving  and  enduring,  but  her 
strength  in  loving  was  the  secret  of  her  weakness.  The  quick 
and  rough  judgment  of  society  placed  in  her  own  bosom,  and  acting 
upon  her  through  other  people  wasted  her  youth,  her  beauty,  her 
motherhood,  her  love,  her  power  of  enjoying  and  of  spreading  joy, 
and  drove  her  to  misery,  crime,  and  a cruel,  violent  death. 


1 Ibid  . , p . 380  . 

3 Child,  Thomas  Hardy,  p.  70. 


. 


, 

‘ 

- 

/ 

' 

. 

-64- 


"Justice  was  done  and  the  President  of  the  Immortals  had  ended 
his  sport  with  Teas.”'1  There  are  few  who  will  doubt  the  great 
injustice  of  the  social  justice  which  murdered  Tess  after  per- 
verting her;  but  the  President  of  the  Immortals  and  his  "sport" 
do  not  seem  to  fit  in  with  Thomas  Hardy’s  conception  of  the 
government  by  nature  of  this  world.  Tess  stood  in  isolated 
weakness  amid  her  heredity  and  environment  and  the  happenings  of 
nature  which  were  outside  and  beyond  her  control . She  had  a 
will  and  a conscience  that  could  be  called  her  own,  but  standing 
against  her  were  father,  mother,  Alec,  Angel,  a conventional 
society,  hereditary  tendencies  and  a malicious  course  of  events. 
All  nature  forced  her  from  the  right  path  and  brought  her  to 
degradation  and  shame.  As  Professor  Sherman  says,  "Mr.  Hardy’s 
grim  symbol  of  nature  and  the  morality  of  society  is  Tess  of 

o 

the  D ’Urbervilles  swinging  on  the  gallows." 

Jude  the  Obscure  was  published  in  1895.  On  its  ap- 
pearance the  book  caused  a storm  of  protest.  It  has  been  greatly 
controverted;  it  has  been  ridiculed;  it  ha3  been  regarded  as  an 
unfortunate  blunder  on  the  part  of  a once-great  artist;  it  has 
also  been  designated  as  "one  of  the  most  illustrious  things  in 
literature."  One  critic  classed  the  author  with  Grant  Allen 


1 Tess  of  the  D’ Urbervilles.  p.  457. 
3 Contemporary  Literature,  p . 167 . 


-65- 

as  a member  of  the  "anti-marriage  league";  within  the  last  two 
years  a writer  of  the  history  of  the  English  novel  has  called 
attention  to  the  "Hardy-Caine " school  of  fiction.  The  greatest 
and  only  permanent  harm  that  this  attack  did  was  that,  as  Mr. 

Hardy  has  definitely  stated,  the  experience  completely  took  away 
any  further  interest  in  novel-writing. 

The  story  is  a conflict  between  love  and  morality.  It 
is  more  terrible  and  less  beautiful  than  Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles 
It  hurts  more  and  inspires  less;  it  stirs  up  indignation  without 
giving  the  least  ray  of  hope.  As  in  the  preceding  novel,  all 
nature  planned  to  bring  a helpless  individual  to  destruction. 

In  the  opening  paragraphs  the  novelist  describes  his 
hero  as  a boy  who  "could  scarcely  bear  to  see  trees  cut  down  or 
topped,  from  a fancy  that  it  hurt  them;  and  late  pruning  when  the 
sap  was  up  and  the  tree  bled  profusely,  had  been  a positive  grief 
to  him  in  his  infancy  . This  weakness  of  character,  as  it  may 
be  called,  suggested  that  he  was  the  sort  of  man  who  was  born  to 
ache  a good  deal  before  the  fall  of  the  curtain  upon  his  unneces- 
sary life  should  signify  that  all  was  well  with  him."'1 2’  "Nature's 
logic  was  too  horrid  for  him  to  care  f or . His  mind  was  far 
above  his  station,  and  his  passions  kept  him  from  rising  to  the 
level  of  his  mind.  He  was  eager  for  learning  and  "whenever  he 


1 Jude  the  Obscure,  p . - 13  . 

2 Ibid . , p . 14  . 


-66- 

could  get  away  from  the  confines  of  the  hamlet  for  an  hour  or  two, 
which  was  not  often,  he  would  steal  off  to  the  Brown  House  on  the 
hill  and  strain  his  eyes  persistently ,,x  hoping  he  might  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  wonderful  university  where  he  longed  to  go.  When 
he  did  rise  above  his  surroundings  and  reached  the  city  where 
opportunities  awaited  him  Nature  asserted  itself  against  hirn  and 
"a  compelling  arm  of  extraordinary  muscular  power  seized  hold  of 
him — something  which  had  nothing  in  common  with  the  spirits  and 
influences  that  had  moved  him  hitherto.  This  seemed  to  care 
little  for  his  reason  and  his  will,  nothing  for  his  socalled  ele- 
vated intentions,  and  moved  him  along,  as  a violent  school-master 
a school-boy  he  had  seized  by  the  collar,  in  a direction  which 
tended  towards  the  embrace  of  a woman  for  whom  he  had  no  respect, 
and  whose  life  had  nothing  in  common  with  his  own  except  locality'! 
His  surroundings  and  the  constant  association  with  a gross  village 
girl  entrapped  him  into  a marriage  which  compelled  him  to  be  a 
stone-mason  instead  of  a student.  Jude  said  to  Arabella,  "Of 
course  I never  dreamed  six  months  ago,  or  even  three,  of  marrying. 
It  is  a complete  smashing  up  of  my  plans — I mean  my  plans  before 
I knew  you,  my  dear.  But  what  are  they,  after  alii  Dreams 


1 Ibid.,  p.  13. 

2 Ibid.,  p . 45 . 


■ 


-67- 


about  books,  and  degrees,  and  impossible  scholarships,  and  all 
that.  Certainly  we’ll  marry;  we  must  1"^  He  was  soon  deserted 
by  his  degrading  Arabella.  In  his  effort  to  rise  once  more  he 
became  despondent  several  times.  He  tried  to  drown  himself  but 
nature  had  planned  that  he  suffer  longer  before  the  curtain  fell 
upon  his  unnecessary  life.  ’’Jude  put  one  foot  on  the  edge  of 
the  ice,  and  then  the  other;  it  cracked  under  his  weight;  but  this 
did  not  deter  him.  When  just  about  the  middle  he  looked  around 
him  and  gave  a jump.  The  cracking  repeated  itself;  but  he  did 
not  go  down.  Jude  went  back  to  the  edge,  and  stepped  upon  the 
ground . 

"It  was  curious,  he  thought.  HVhat  was  he  reserved  for? 

He  supposed  he  was  not  a sufficiently  dignified  person  for  sui- 
cide. Peaceful  death  abhorred  him  as  a subject,  and  would  not 

p 

take  him."  Then  he  determined  he  would  be  a theologian  and  a 

priest  . He  went  back  to  the  city  and  even  the  lights  seemed  to 

look  upon  him  with  eyes  of  reproach.  "They  winked  their  lights 

at  him  dubiously  and  as  if,  though  they  had  been  awaiting  him  all 

these  years,  in  disappointment  at  his  tarrying,  they  did  not  much 
3 

want  him  now."  But  he  fell  in  love  with  his  cousin.  Sue  Bride- 
head,  and  she  thwarted  his  purpose.  "Surrounded  by  her  influence 


1 Ibid.,  p . 62 . 

2 Ibid.,  p . 79 . 

3 Ibid.,  p.  89. 


-68- 


all  day,  walking  past  the  spots  she  frequented  he  was  always 
thinking  of  her,  and  was  obliged  to  own  to  himself  that  his  con- 
science was  likely  to  be  the  loser  in  this  battle.”  Soon  Sue 
left  him  as  Arabella  had  done  and  "he  projected  his  mind  into 
the  future,  and  saw  her  with  children  more  or  less  in  her  own 
likeness  around  her.  But  the  consolation  of  regarding  them  as 
continuation  of  her  identity  was  denied  to  him,  as  to  all  such 
dreamers,  by  the  wilfulness  of  Nature  in  not  allowing  issue  from 

one  parent  alone And  then  he  again  uneasily  saw,  as  he  had 

latterly  seen  with  more  and  more  frequency,  the  scorn  of  Nature 
for  man's  finer  emotions,  and  her  lack  of  interest  in  his  aspira- 
tions . 

As  in  the  novels  of  the  first  period  Mr.  Hardy  shows 
the  power  of  nature  in  affecting  an  individual's  mood.  "The 
trees  overhead  deepened  the  gloom  of  the  hour,  and  they  dripped 
sadly  upon  him,  impressing  him  with  forebodings — illogical  fore- 
bodings, for  though  he  knew  that  he  loved  her,  he  also  knew  that 

o 

he  could  not  be  more  to  her  than  he  was."  "Vague  imaginings  of 
Drayton  Castle,  its  three  mints,  its  magnificent  aspideal  abbey, 
the  chief  glory  of  South  Wessex,  its  twelve  churches,  its  shrines, 
chantries,  hospitals,  its  gabled  freestone  mansions--all  now 
ruthlessly  swept  away — throw  the  visitor,  even  against  his  will. 


1 

Ibid . , 

P • 

208  . 

2 

Ibid . , 

P • 

126  . 

' 


■ 

. 


. 


‘ 


-69- 


into  a pensive  melancholy,  which  the  stimulating  atmosphere  and 
limitless  landscape  around  him  can  scarcely  dispel."'1  Again 
the  power  in  seen  in  a letter  from  Sue  to  Jude.  "Don't  come 
next  week.  On  your  own  account  don't.  We  were  too  free,  under 
the  influence  of  that  morbid  hymn  and  the  twilight." 

As  Wildeve  in  The  Return  of  the  Native.  Jude  cared  for 
the  remote  and  disliked  the  near.  "Let  me  get  Christminster 
and  the  rest  is  but  a matter  of  time  and  energy,"  Jude  repeated. 
But  when  he  arrived  there  he  found  that  circumstances  forced  him 
from  the  right  path.  .Through  this  account  of  his  tragic  history 
Jude  made  some  very  impressive  statements  showing  nature's  power 
in  moulding  lives.  "People  go  on  marrying  because  they  can't 
resist  natural  forces,  although  many  of  them  may  know  perfectly 
well  that  they  are  possibly  buying  a month's  pleasure  with  a 
life's  discomfort."4  "Cruelty  is  the  lav/  pervading  all  nature 
and  society;  and  we  can't  get  out  of  it  if  we  would."0  This 
remark  of  Jude's  explains  the  tragedy  of  his  life. 

Thus  Jude  the  Obscure  is  "a  tragedy  of  unrealized  aims". 
Jude  came  of  tainted  stock,  he  was  of  low  birth  and  narrow  cir- 


1 

Ibid . , 

P • 

235  . 

2 

Ibid . , 

P • 

245  . 

3 

Ibid., 

P • 

134, 

4 

Ibid., 

P • 

336. 

5 

Ibid . , 

P • 

377  . 

-70- 


cumstances.  Yet  he  constantly  strived  to  advance,  and  was  in- 
evitably thrown  back  by  the  entanglements  of  the  social  law  with 
which  nature  brought  him  into  conflict.  Natural  environment 
affected  his  character  and  from  the  beginning  of  the  book  we  see 
nature  had  planned  to  bring  this  helpless  individual  to  degrada- 
tion and  shame.  Jude  the  Obscure  is  the  only  one  of  Thomas 
Hardy's  books  through  which  there  shines  no  hope  at  all.  The 
darkness  is  utterly  unrelieved.  There  is  no  cleansing  of  the 
passions,  no  sense  of  "calm  of  mind,  all  passions  spent",  but  a 
hopeless  outlook  upon  this  life  in  which  nature  reigns  supreme. 

In  the  novels  of  the  second  period  the  idea  of  environ- 
ment was  a natural  surrounding,  changeless,  heedless,  which 
crushed  its  greatest  enemy  civilization  with  an  austere  oppression 
But  in  Tess  of  the  D 'Urbervilles  and  Jude  the  Obscure  not  only 
natural  surroundings  but  all  nature  was  in  conspiracy  against  the 
individual . Even  the  social  order  aligned  itself  with  nature 
in  the  struggle  of  man  with  his  environment . In  Tess  of  the 
D 'Urbervilles  the  author  shows  a lonely  nature  tortured  by  cir- 
cumstances working  through  the  stupidity  of  man  himself . Al- 
though she  "strayed  from  the  path"  when  a very  young  girl,  Tess 
might  have  lived  a peaceful  and  beneficent  life,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  sense  of  sin  implanted  in  her  by  the  collective  timidity 
of  society  and  for  the  environment  of  conventions  which  proclaimed 
her  an  outcast.  In  Jude  the  Obscure  Mr.  Hardy  likewise  shows 
the  tyranny  which  arises  from  the  social  mould  of  civilization 


. 

o*si3# 


■ 


. 


. 


* 


, 

li/tt'i' 


. 


-71- 


and  "the  strictness  and  fatal  blindness  of  the  world  and  its  ways" 
which  sweeps  all  men  into  the  same  uniform  current  where  none  are 
at  liberty.  He  brings  definite  charges  against  the  quick  judg- 
ment of  society,  which  in  its  effort  to  protect  itself  destroys 
some  of  its  most  sensitive  and  finest  material.  "Who  was  to 
blame?"  Sue  is  asked,  and  she  replies,  "I  don’t  know.  The  Uni- 
verse, I suppose,  things  in  general,  because  they  are  30  horrid 
and  cruel1."  The  cruelty  is  not  in  the  individual  but  in  "things 
in  general,"  in  the  scheme  of  modern  society,  in  an  environment 
of  hard  and  fast  ideas,  in  the  uncontrollable  powers  of  nature 
which  direct  our  lives,  austerely  and  tyrannically.  Mr.  Hardy 
asks  us  after  he  ha3  shown  us  Tess  and  Jude,  tortured  victims  of 
heredity  and  environment,  "Is  this  the  gentle  mercy  of  your  nature 
and  your  nature's  God?"  "Did  this  being  come  'trailing  clouds  of 
glory'  from  your  all  loving  Father?"  The  bitterness  of  the 
question  lies  in  the  fact  that  as  we  look  around  us  at  the  wrecks 
of  humanity — wrecks  innocent  of  their  own  destruction — we  are 
unable  to  answer  him. 


■ 


~ • ..  


-72- 


CONCLUSION. 

In  summing  up  the  idea  of  environment  in  Thomas  Hardy’s 
novels,  we  see  that  environment  has  an  important  place  in  all  the 
novels  discussed.  In  the  novels  of  the  first  period  the  author 
shows  environment  affecting  the  character  and  actions  of  an  in- 
dividual in  an  incidental  way.  He  does  not  show  it  as  a force 
which  definitely  and  permanently  moulds  characters  and  forms 
destinies — as  a force  which  determines  the  outcome  of  the  story. 

In  the  novels  of  the  second  period  the  idea  of  environ- 
ment becomes  stronger.  The  novelist  shows  environment  as  an 
active  personal  force,  a sensuous  surrounding  which  is  antagonist- 
ic to  man  and  is  conspiring  to  bring  helpless  individuals  to 
destruction.  Those  who  submit  to  the  force  of  their  environment, 
are  inevitably  shaped  and  cramped  by  it;  those  who  revolt  and 
battle  against  it  are  shattered  by  its  relentless,  heedless  op- 
pression. In  this  period  environment  determines  the  outcome  of 
the  story  . 

In  the  novels  of  the  third  period  the  idea  of  environ- 
ment becomes  even  stronger.  Not  only  a sensuous  surrounding  but 
all  nature  joined  by  the  social  order  unites  in  a deep  conspiracy 
to  bring  weak  individuals  to  degradation  and  shame.  Mr.  Hardy 
shows  Tess  and  Jude  as  persons  born  to  misery,  and  the  tragedy 


. 


. 

. 


. 


. 


. 

. 


. 


-73- 


of  it  for  him  is  that  they  are  not  to  blame  for  their  surroundings 
It  is  the  circumstances  which  are  all  wrong.  He  believes  that 
the  whole  social  order  is  not  only  inadequate  for  the  production 
of  happiness  * but  designed  as  if  by  diabolical  skill  to  make  us 
all  miserable.  The  author  sees  the  individual  as  a hoop,  carried 
on  by  the  force  of  existence  in  an  unceasing  series  of  revolutions 
The  direction  of  each  revolution  is  determined  by  the  nature  of 
the  place  struck  in  its  preceding  contact  with  the  earth.  If  the 
hoop  goes  on  a smooth  surface,  man’s  existence  will  be  in  a smooth 
direct  path.  If  it  chances  to  strike  rocks  and  snags  in  its 
course,  likewise  the  whole  direction  of  man’s  life  will  be  deter- 
mined by  the  external  forces  he  encounters  along  the  way.  Nature 
has  no  "holy  plan".  To  use  another  very  similar  simile,  man  is 
as  clay  in  the  hands  of  his  great  potter;  and  the  potter,  to 
Thomas  Hardy,  is  environment . 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  . 


Critical  Works 


Lionel  Johnson — The  Art  of  Thomas  Hardy,  Dodd,  Mead  & Co . , 1894 
Lascelles  Abercrombie — Thomas  Hardy . Martin  Seeker,  1912. 

Annie  Macdonell — Thomas  Hardy . Kodder  & Stoughton,  1894. 

Harold  Child — Thomas  Hardy , Henry  Holt  & Co.,  1916. 

H.  C.  Duff  in — Thomas  Hardy , University  Press  at  Manchester, 

1916. 

H.  C.  Duff  in — -Thomas  Hardy . University  Press  at  Manchester, 

1921  . 

Lina  W . Berl e — George  Eliot  and  Thomas  Hardy . 

Samuel  C.  Chew — Thomas  Hardy.  Longmans,  Green  <1  Co.,  1921. 

0 

Carl  Holliday — English  Diction.  The  Century  Co.,  1912. 

G.  H.  Eilwanger — Idvllist  of  the  Countryside . Dodd,  Mead  & Co . , 

1896. 

R.  A.  Scott -James- -Mo d e rn i srn  an d Roma nc e , John  Lane  Co.,  N.Y., 
1918  . 

H.  W.  Nevinson — Books  and  Personalities,  John  Lane  Co.,  N.Y., 

1905  . 

John  Freeman — The  Moderns.  Robert  Scott,  London,  1916. 

Stuart  P . Sherman — On  Contemporary  Literature , Henry  Holt  & Co . 

1917. 

Arthur  Symons — Figurea  of  Several  Centuries.  Constable  & Co., 
London,  1916. 

J ohn  W . Cunl iff e — English  Literature  During  the  Last  Half 
Century . The  Macmillan  Co.,  N.Y.,  1919. 

Wilbur  L . Cross  — The  Development  of  the  English  Novel , The 
Macmillan  Co.,  1911. 


. 


. 


Periodicals 


J.  M.  Barrie — Thomas  Hardy:  The  Historian  of  Wessex.  Con- 
temporary Review,  vol . 56,  p.  57-66,  July  1889. 

J.  N.  Robinson — Thomas  Hardy , Westminster  Review,  vol.  37, 
p . 153  . 

Wrn . Sharp — Thomas  Hardy  ana  His  Novels.  Forum,  N.Y.,  vol.  13, 
p.  583-593,  July  1892. 

Heroic  Optimism  of  Thomas  Hardy,  Current  Literature,  Aug. 


H.  W.  Preston — Thomas  Hardy . Century,  N.Y.,  vol.  46,  p.  353. 

Hall  Frye — Thomas  Hardy  and  Nature.  Independent,  N.Y.,  vol.  54 
p.  1657.  ' 

M.  Moss — The  Hovels  of  Thomas  Hardy,  Atlantic  Monthly,  vol. 

98,  p.  354. 


Works 

Selected  Poems  of  Thomas  Hardy.  Macmillan  Co.,  1916. 

[Collected  ProselWorka  of  Thomas  Hardy.  Harper  & Brothers, 
N.Y.,  1891-1913. 


